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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29831802">this is the road to ruin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostinthelibrary/pseuds/ghostinthelibrary'>ghostinthelibrary</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Still a Witcher, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Vampires</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:13:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>31,077</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29831802</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostinthelibrary/pseuds/ghostinthelibrary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Working the night shift at the E-Z-Go, Jaskier is used to an assortment of strange characters. But Geralt, with his beat up old van, the swords in his passenger seat, and his occasional unexplained stab wound, may be the strangest. Jaskier can’t decide if he’s a LARPer or a hitman. Either way, he wants to know more.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>244</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>674</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was originally supposed to be a short, goofy modern with magic AU and next thing I knew, it was 30K. It can also be found on <a href="https://ghostinthelibrarywrites.tumblr.com/post/639876583444922368/this-is-the-road-to-ruin-masterpost">Tumblr</a> if you prefer that format.</p>
<p>Title is from "Alone Together" by Fall-Out Boy</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The van that pulls up outside the E-Z-Go gas station at 3:23 AM has seen better days. Its brown paint job is peeling and battered. The front bumper has a dent in it and the passenger side mirror is missing. The license plate, which reads R04CH, is askew. Jaskier leans his elbows against the counter and watches it, trying to decide what kind of person would drive such a van. He amuses himself during his graveyard shifts at the E-Z-Go by coming up with complicated backstories for the people who stop for gas based on their cars.</p><p>Perhaps a young, free-spirited traveler who bought the shitty van for a handful of crowns and now wanders the Continent, searching for inspiration. Or maybe a cubicle worker who got tired of it all and decided to buy a lemon and hit the road, seeking to recapture their squandered youth. Or maybe…</p><p>A gorgeous man with long white hair pulled back into a ponytail and broad shoulders that strain against the black jacket he’s wearing. Jaskier tries not to stare at the man while he fills up his tank. He really does. But it’s 3:23 AM, he’s seen a grand total of four people since his shift started at midnight, and just from the back of him, he can tell that this may be the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. He wills the credit card scanner to break or something, anything to force the man to come inside and let Jaskier get a closer look.</p><p>As the man turns and starts towards the E-Z-Go, Jaskier quickly pats his hair to make sure it’s not sticking up too much and checks his breath. As the door flies open, Jaskier puts on his most winning smile and says, “Hello! How are you doing on this beautiful evening?”</p><p>It’s January in Redania, so the evening is nowhere close to beautiful, but no matter.</p><p>The man is wearing sunglasses, even though it’s the dead of night. When he turns to look at Jaskier, Jaskier sees that his face is indeed as beautiful as the rest of him. “Coffee,” is all he says.</p><p>Jaskier clears his throat, suddenly struck speechless, and points.</p><p>The man grunts in acknowledgement and goes to fill up the largest coffee cup size they have. Jaskier doesn’t watch <em>too</em> closely. He doesn’t notice the hug of the black pants the man is wearing and the way they emphasize muscular thighs and a truly lovely ass. He doesn’t notice the breadth of his shoulders or the bulge of his biceps.</p><p>Maybe he should call the Countess tomorrow. He hasn’t seen her in a while.</p><p>When the man returns, Jaskier drags his eyes back to his face. There’s a smudge of something dark around the man’s eyes peeking out from under his sunglasses, like smeared eye makeup, and Jaskier desperately wants to know what those eyes look like. He notices a silver medallion hanging around the man’s neck, that of a snarling wolf’s head. “Nice necklace,” he says.</p><p>The man only grunts in reply and takes a sip of coffee. “Hm. Coffee’s not bad.”</p><p>His voice is low and grumbly and Jaskier wants to hear more of it. “Thanks, I made it myself. Coffee’s usually burnt at places like this, right? The trick is—”</p><p>The man slides a handful of crowns to him. “Keep the change.”</p><p>And then he turns and walks away, giving Jaskier one last view of that glorious ass before he’s gone. Jaskier can’t even be mad when he realizes the man tipped him twice what he owed for the coffee.</p><p>***</p><p>Jaskier meets a lot of interesting people at the E-Z-Go.  It’s located right off of Highway 89, exactly halfway between Novigrad and Vizima, and is a frequent stop for travelers. Jaskier gets all types— exhausted families coming back from weekends in the Kestrel Mountains, long distance truckers that sometimes like to linger and chat while they drink their coffee, fellow night shift workers on their way to work and needing one last caffeine boost. A few of the night shift workers are regulars, but for the most part, he doesn’t get a lot of repeat customers, so he’s not expecting to see the white-haired traveler again..</p><p>It’s two weeks after the first time the gorgeous man visited the E-Z-Go that Jaskier sees him again. It’s snowing and the roads are even emptier than usual at this time of night. Jaskier hasn’t seen a single person in the three hours he’s been working, so he puts in his earbuds, turns up his music, and sings along as he stocks shelves, desperate to keep himself awake. It’s not the concerts he thought he’d be giving to a stadium of adoring fans when he dropped out of Oxenfurt his junior year to pursue his music career, but he can be his own adoring audience.</p><p>He doesn’t realize anyone has entered the store until he turns around, arms full of canned pasta, and finds himself face-to-face with Mr. Tall, White-Haired, and Scary. Jaskier lets out a little shriek and drops the cans, sending them scattering across the linoleum floor.</p><p>The man doesn’t so much as blink. He’s not wearing sunglasses this time, but he must be wearing contact lenses, because no one has eyes like that— yellow with slitted pupils— in real life. “Shouldn’t wear your earbuds when you’re in here by yourself. It’s not safe.”</p><p>Jaskier presses his hand to his heart, which is racing. “Well, I wasn’t expecting someone to <em>sneak up on me.</em>”</p><p>“Didn’t sneak. I walked up and told you that you’re out of coffee. Not my fault you didn’t hear me.”</p><p>Jaskier swallows hard. “Um, do you want coffee?”</p><p>“No,” the man says dryly. “I stopped by just to tell you that you’re out of coffee.”</p><p>Jaskier is normally quick with a witty rejoinder or a flirty comment. He chooses to blame his sudden inability to form coherent sentences on the fact that it’s 2 AM, and not on suddenly being struck tongue-tied like a horny teenager. “Right, a fresh pot of coffee, coming right up.”</p><p>He wonders if the man’s white hair is natural. Based on his face, he wouldn’t put him at any older than his mid-thirties. Whatever aesthetic the man is going for with the white hair and the yellow contact lenses is a stark contrast to the bulky black jacket he wears and the ratty van he drives. Maybe he’s an actor? He’s certainly pretty enough. Or maybe—</p><p>“I have a long drive ahead of me,” the man says and Jaskier realizes he’s been standing here, staring at the other man’s white hair for an awkward amount of time.</p><p>“Ah, yes, sorry.” Jaskier leaves the cans scattered across the ground and goes to put on a pot of coffee.</p><p>“So,” he says while the coffee is brewing. “Heading north or south?”</p><p>“Does it matter?”</p><p>“No, but I’m not big on awkward silences.”</p><p>A snowy white eyebrow lifts in response. “Didn’t realize this was awkward.”</p><p>“Well, it’s not now that we’re having a conversation.”</p><p>The man snorts, which Jaskier takes as a victory.</p><p>“My name’s Jaskier, by the way,” he says, emboldened. “I know my vest says, ‘Julian,’ but that’s because my manager is a joyless old busybody who insists on proper names on name tags. In reality, no one has called me Julian since my grandmother died when I was sixteen and even she—”</p><p>“Jaskier? Like a buttercup?”</p><p>Jaskier grins, delighted that someone knows that <em>jaskier</em> used to be another word for buttercup. He read it in a 13th century poem his freshman year of high school and was immediately enamored with it. “Exactly, pretty and poisonous, just like me.”</p><p>“Concerning to hear from the person making my coffee.” The man’s lips twitch into a barest hint of a smile.</p><p>Jaskier laughs. That small curl of the man’s lips is lovely enough; a full smile from him would probably make Jaskier swoon.</p><p>“You work here every night?” the man asks.</p><p>“Four nights a week.”</p><p>“See anything strange lately?”</p><p><em>“Only you,”</em> Jaskier refrains from saying. Instead, he says, “No stranger than usual. We get all types at this time of night.”</p><p>“Hm.” The coffee pot finishes brewing and the man goes to pour himself a cup. “And you’re always here by yourself?”</p><p>“Most nights, yeah.”</p><p>The man frowns at that. “Your bosses haven’t heard about the murders?”</p><p>“Eh, don’t think they’re too worried about the murders.” The handful of murders along Route 89 in the last month— a hitchhiker, a college student sleeping in his car at a rest stop, a young woman who stopped for gas a couple of exits south, a couple whose car broke down on the side of the road— are all isolated incidents, according to the local police.</p><p>“Jobs like this, it’s easy to replace me if I get my throat slit.” Jaskier laughs.</p><p>The man doesn’t join him in his mirth.</p><p>Jaskier is aware that he probably should be nervous, all alone in a convenience store with a man who looks to be pure muscle and has the air of someone who definitely has at least one weapon hidden on him. The security cameras haven’t worked in years. With the snow, no one will probably stop by until Jaskier’s shift ends at six AM. If this man meant him harm, Jaskier would be utterly fucked.</p><p>But nothing about this man seems threatening. Or maybe it’s just that he’s spectacularly good-looking and all of Jaskier’s self-preservation instincts go flying out the window at the sight of a defined jawline and strong shoulders. (Some would claim that Jaskier has no self-preservation instincts to begin with, and they would be entirely right.)</p><p>“Do you want to know a secret?” Jaskier asks. The man’s expression becomes slightly less neutral, so he takes that as encouragement. “I keep a spiked baseball bat behind the counter. Call her the Countess, after my ex. Which is a long story in and of itself… which you don’t look like you want to hear. Anyway, I’ve used the Countess to ward off several potential robberies. Well, one robbery. And it may have been the car pulling up that scared that guy off, but I’m giving the Countess credit.”</p><p>“Hm,” is all the white-haired man says. “Just keep an eye out.”</p><p>“Don’t you worry, I can take care of myself.” Which is debatable, but that’s another story this man doesn’t need to hear. “Coffee’s on the house. Sorry for the wait.”</p><p>“That’s not necessary.”</p><p>“I insist.” Jaskier flashes his sunniest smile. “Got to keep my favorite customer happy.”</p><p>The man quirks an eyebrow. “Must not get a lot of customers.”</p><p>“Not a lot of pretty ones.”</p><p>The man snorts, looking somewhere between incredulous and amused. “Take care of yourself, Jaskier.”</p><p>“What’s your name?” Jaskier calls after him as the man walks towards the door.</p><p>The man pauses in the doorway, looking like he’s contemplating whether or not to answer. “It’s Geralt.”</p><p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When Geralt shows up at the E-Z-Go with a mysterious back wound, Jaskier offers a helping hand.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Over the next couple of months, Geralt becomes not quite a regular customer at the E-Z-Go, but at least a somewhat frequent one. He’s in at least once a week, usually somewhere between 2 and 3 AM, always wanting nothing but a black coffee. Some nights, he stops to chat, but most nights, he takes his coffee and goes.</p>
<p>Jaskier isn’t exactly <em>obsessed</em>, but he wonders about the mysterious white-haired traveler and his crappy van often, contemplating what brought Geralt to his gas station in the middle of the night and for how long it will keep happening. His roommate, Priscilla, likes to say that Jaskier falls in love at the drop of a hat, which isn’t true. Jaskier falls in <em>lust</em> at the drop of a hat. And there’s quite a lot to lust over when it comes to Geralt.</p>
<p>And then the visits abruptly stop. Two weeks go by, then three, then a month. Jaskier shouldn’t be as put out as he is. Very few people covet the kind of lifestyle that causes them to visit the E-Z-Go in the middle of the night. Geralt has probably moved on, gotten a better job with better hours, or just switched up his route. Jaskier knows nothing about the man except for the fact that he likes his coffee strong and dark and he fills out a pair of jeans like it’s his job. After a month of no visits from Geralt, Jaskier accepts that he probably won’t see the white-haired man again.</p>
<p>So when he pulls into the parking lot of the E-Z-Go one night, he’s pleasantly surprised to find a familiar beat up brown van at the gas pump and Geralt coming out of the convenience store, cup of coffee in hand.</p>
<p>Jaskier does a truly terrible job parking in his rush to leap out of the car. “Geralt!”</p>
<p>The man turns with a raised eyebrow. “Jaskier.”</p>
<p>“You’re back!” Perhaps not the most scintillating of conversational openers, but Jaskier has to work with what he’s got.</p>
<p>“I am. Just passing through.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t everyone?”</p>
<p>“Can tell you didn’t make the coffee.”</p>
<p>Jaskier feels a little glow of warmth in his chest. “My other job is as a barista. I take coffee seriously. If you hang around for a few minutes, I can put on another pot. Free of charge, of course.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s lips twitch. “Still your favorite customer?”</p>
<p>“Always.” Jaskier flutters his eyelashes.</p>
<p>To his surprise and gratification, Geralt chuckles. It’s low and throaty and it does delicious things to Jaskier’s insides. “Maybe some other time. I’ve got to get going.”</p>
<p>“You know where to find me.” When Geralt goes to open his passenger-side door, Jaskier is startled to see what looks like two sheathed swords sitting in his passenger seat. He frowns. Geralt doesn’t seem like a LARPer, though Priscilla would yell at him for stereotyping people. But Jaskier doesn’t see any other reason for Geralt to be carrying around swords. That would explain the yellow contacts too.</p>
<p>As Geralt drives away, Jaskier adds it to the list of intriguing things about the man.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“I’m telling you, it’s the Nilfs.”</p>
<p>Jaskier leans his elbows against the counter and tries not to look too exasperated. “Alan, I don’t think the Nilfgaardian government is sending assassins after diner waitresses and hitchhikers in Redania.”</p>
<p>“You’re too young to remember what it was like during the war.” Alan waves a dismissive hand. A tow truck driver and veteran of the Seventh Nilfgaardian War, Alan is a regular customer at the E-Z-Go, stopping in at least once a night for some coffee and conversation. Jaskier likes the older man well enough, though he would be happy to stop having to listen to Alan’s increasingly wild speculations about the murders.</p>
<p>There was another murder the night before at the 24-hour diner only an exit away from the E-Z-Go, a waitress killed as she made her way to her car after her shift. Jaskier feels a shiver of unease every time he looks outside at the darkened parking lot. One of the streetlamps outside has burnt out again and only the gas pumps are illuminated. The rest of the parking lot is pitch black.</p>
<p>“This is what they did during the war,” Alan continues. “They spread terror. Bastards are big on guerrilla warfare.”</p>
<p>“By conducting air raids on cities and bombing military bases, Alan, not ripping people’s throats out at rest stops.” The bell over the door chimes and Jaskier startles. Geralt strides in, which is a surprise in of itself, since it was just a couple of hours ago that Jaskier ran into him in the parking lot. But instead of making a beeline for the coffee, like he normally does, he heads towards the back of the store.</p>
<p>“I’m telling you, something about this doesn’t smell right.” Alan is too lost in his monologue to notice Geralt’s arrival. “They’re trying too hard to cover this up, still spouting bullshit that it’s a bunch of <em>isolated incidents.</em>”</p>
<p>Jaskier hums in agreement, watching in the security mirror as Geralt heads for Aisle 6, where they keep some pharmacy items, like cold medicine and first aid supplies.</p>
<p>“They wouldn’t be going through all this trouble to hush it up if it was some run of the mill sicko,” Alan continues. “They don’t want to start a panic, so they’re hiding the fact that Nilfs are assassinating Redanian citizens on our own—” The walkie talkie on his hip squawks and Alan grumbles. “Fuck, sounds like a car broke down nearby.”</p>
<p>“They probably need a tow truck,” Jaskier says cheerfully.</p>
<p>“Take care, Jaskier. Keep that baseball bat close.”</p>
<p>Jaskier reaches over to lovingly pat the Countess. Priscilla just got him a new sticker for the bat, with <em>Not today, motherfucker</em> written in pink, sparkly letters. “I always do.”</p>
<p>Alan says his goodbyes and leaves with his coffee. Jaskier glances at the security camera in time to see Geralt vanish into the bathroom. Jaskier is about to go back to his book when he sees droplets of something dark on the floor. It takes him an instant to realize it’s blood.</p>
<p>More curious than alarmed, Jaskier follows the trail of blood droplets. They lead to the first aid supplies in Aisle 6 and then to the bathroom. From within the bathroom, Jaskier can hear Geralt cursing quietly under his breath.</p>
<p>Jaskier hesitates, then knocks. “Geralt?”</p>
<p>“What?” The other man’s voice is a growl of pain.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine.”</p>
<p>“It’s just, I couldn’t help but notice the trail of blood.”</p>
<p>“It’s nothing.”</p>
<p>“Can I come in?” Jaskier has a key, but he doesn’t want to force his way into the bathroom. And not just because he thinks Geralt could break him in half if he really wanted to.</p>
<p>There’s silence on the other side of the door.</p>
<p>“If you’re hurt, I just want to help,” Jaskier tells him.</p>
<p>The door opens and Geralt stands there. Jaskier swallows hard at the sight of him. Geralt has stripped off his jacket, revealing a fitted black sleeveless shirt that’s tight enough to make Jaskier’s mouth go dry. Geralt has the kind of sculpted physique that belongs on the cover of romance novels, not on a living, breathing person. Jaskier has spent so much time staring at his ass that he hasn’t been paying enough attention to the fact that the man has <em>shoulders</em> for days. And don’t even get Jaskier started on his pecs or his biceps.</p>
<p>He’s so busy staring that he almost forgets what he was doing. It’s only when he notices the blood dripping down Geralt’s arm that he returns to his senses. “Where are you hurt?”</p>
<p>“Told you, it’s nothing.”</p>
<p>“You’re <em>bleeding</em>.”</p>
<p>“People do that sometimes.”</p>
<p>“Usually not that much. Turn around and let me see.”</p>
<p>Geralt doesn’t move.</p>
<p>“Look.” Jaskier holds up his hands in surrender. “If you really want me to fuck off, I will. But you’re clearly in pain and I’m willing to help. I promise, whatever happened, you’re not going to get any judgement from me.”</p>
<p>Geralt hesitates, then turns around to show Jaskier his back. Jaskier sucks in a breath. There’s a long gash starting at the base of Geralt’s neck and traveling across his right shoulder blade and then down his tricep. It’s an odd-looking wound, and Jaskier can’t think for the life of him what could have caused it. It’s also deep.</p>
<p>“You should go to a hospital,” Jaskier tells him, fighting to keep his voice even. “This looks like it might need stitches, or it’s going to scar.”</p>
<p>“Can’t go to a hospital.”</p>
<p>“Why not?”</p>
<p>“No health insurance.”</p>
<p>Well, Jaskier knows how that is. “What happened?”</p>
<p>“Accident at work. My fault.”</p>
<p>“What the fuck do you do, wrestle grizzlies for a living?”</p>
<p>Geralt snorts. “Something like that.”</p>
<p>Jaskier wets a paper towel in the sink and begins to gently clean the wound. “That isn’t vague or anything.”</p>
<p>“I do a little bit of everything.”</p>
<p>That clears exactly nothing up and Jaskier remembers the swords he noticed in the van’s passenger seat earlier. Maybe Geralt isn’t a LARPer. Maybe he does something significantly more dangerous.</p>
<p><em>Hitman,</em> Jaskier’s brain supplies, though swords seem like an impractical choice of weapon for a hitman.</p>
<p>“You’re lucky,” he tells Geralt as he rips open a packet of antiseptic wipes.  “I was a camp counselor at band camp for four years, and you’d be shocked by how violent that place could be. Had to patch up a lot of bumps and bruises.”</p>
<p>“Band camp?” Geralt sounds bemused.</p>
<p>Jaskier gently begins to clean the wound. He wonders if he should be more concerned about Geralt potentially being a hitman. Probably not, since he can’t think of anyone who would want to put a hit out on him. “I did have a life before the E-Z-Go, you know.”</p>
<p>“Figured. You just don’t seem like the band camp type.”</p>
<p>“I used to play the guitar. And sing.” Jaskier tries to focus on the wound and not the gorgeous expanse of muscle around it.</p>
<p>“Used to?”</p>
<p>“Pretty stereotypical story. Dropped out of college to become a star, had a couple of hits, and then my manager fucked me over, both literally and figuratively, and ran off to Nilfgaard with all my money.”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t sound overly typical.”</p>
<p>Jaskier shrugs. “It’s fine. What more glamorous gig could I ask for than this?”’</p>
<p>Geralt just hums in reply.</p>
<p>“Anyway,” Jaskier says brightly. “I can assure you, my friend, you’re receiving the best medical care any convenience store on the Continent has to offer.”</p>
<p>“Reassuring,” Geralt says dryly.</p>
<p>“I thought so.” The bleeding is slowing down a little. “How does it feel?”</p>
<p>“Like I have a big fucking cut on my back.”</p>
<p>“You have a <em>huge</em> fucking cut on your back. Hand me the bandages.”</p>
<p>Geralt hands over the box of butterfly bandages.</p>
<p>“Wherever you work, you should tell them to take better care of you,” Jaskier tells him as he gently applies the bandages, trying to close the wound the best he can.</p>
<p>Geralt snorts. “I’ll get right on that.”</p>
<p>They’re quiet for a moment as Jaskier works. Geralt doesn’t so much as flinch at Jaskier’s ministrations, even though the wound must be killing him.</p>
<p>“That man who was in here earlier,” Geralt says. “The loud one.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Alan? Yeah, he’s a local tow truck driver. He’s in here all the time.”</p>
<p>“Hm. He thinks Nilfgaardians are behind the murders?”</p>
<p>“He thinks Nilfgaardians are behind everything from potholes to global warming. He fought in the Seventh Nilfgaardian War. He says he’s still ready for the eighth.”</p>
<p>Geralt makes a skeptical noise. “Guess I know who to blame all the potholes on 89 for.”</p>
<p>“Probably not the murders, though.”</p>
<p>“No, killing waitresses in darkened parking lots was never Nilfgaard’s style.” He speaks with such an air of authority that Jaskier wonders if he knows from experience. The Seventh Nilfgaardian War ended forty years ago. Jaskier wouldn’t put Geralt’s age at more than thirty-five, but maybe he’s a bit older than he looks? Maybe he was a child during the last war, or just had relatives who knew firsthand? Jaskier realizes that he can’t place Geralt’s accent. It’s certainly not Nilfgaardian, but it doesn’t sound like it’s from any of the Northern Kingdoms either.</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t be working here alone,” Geralt says darkly. “Not right now. It’s dangerous. Anything could happen when you’re here by yourself.”</p>
<p>Jaskier thinks of the swords in Geralt’s passenger seat and for the first time, feels a thrill of nerves. Geralt is right; anything could happen during the hours that Jaskier spends alone here with nothing but the Countess for company. He’s suddenly very aware of the fact that he doesn’t know Geralt very well. The man is clearly hiding something, hence the mysterious shoulder wound.</p>
<p> If Geralt is something worse than a hitman— like the person who has been leaving bodies up and down Route 89— then Jaskier is most likely fucked. Geralt isn’t that much taller than Jaskier, or that much broader. Jaskier is plenty tall and broad-shouldered; he would probably be downright buff if he went to the gym more than once a month. But Geralt is pure muscle and has the look of someone who knows how to fight. Meanwhile, Jaskier can barely throw a punch.</p>
<p>As if he senses Jaskier’s nervousness, Geralt takes a step away from him, hands falling to his sides as if to display the lack of weapons. “Alright?” His voice is carefully neutral.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Jaskier shakes himself. He really needs to get a grip. “You’re all bandaged up. Should be good to go.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.” Geralt turns to face him. “Sorry. There have just been too many bodies lately.”</p>
<p>He seems sincere, not like someone who is planning to cut an innocent cashier’s throat, so Jaskier shrugs. “You’re fine. It’s just, all this talk of serial killers makes me jumpy.”</p>
<p>“Hm.”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t be here if I had a choice,” Jaskier tells him, not sure why he keeps talking. “But it turns out, there aren’t a lot of job options for a washed up popstar who didn’t even finish college. Not unless I want to show my ass on reality TV.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s eyes flicker downwards and Jaskier is fairly certain the ass in question is being checked out.</p>
<p>Jaskier tries for his most winning smile and claps Geralt on the arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave detailed instructions on how to make coffee for my successor if anything happens to me. I’ll make sure all your coffee needs are taken care of.” </p>
<p>Geralt doesn’t exactly look mollified, but his lips twitch. “It wouldn’t be the same.”</p>
<p>Jaskier knows that he’s only talking about coffee, not Jaskier himself, but that still warms his heart a little. At least if he gets murdered working this shitty job, someone besides Priscilla will give a damn. “And it won’t be the same without my favorite customer, so whatever happened to your back, don’t let it happen again, okay?”</p>
<p>Geralt shrugs, then winces at the moment. “Hazard of the job.”</p>
<p>Yeah, he’s definitely a hitman. But somehow, Jaskier isn’t even a little bit worried about it.</p>
<p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier has a terrifying encounter after having some car trouble on his way home from work.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier likes to think you can tell a lot about a person from their car— whether they value practicality or style, whether they’re the sentimental type or if they always have to have the newest, sleekest toy, what kind of lifestyle they lead. He tries not to think about what his car says about him. He’s had the station wagon— jokingly named Pegasus, since the car accelerates slower than molasses— since Valdo fucking Marx ran off to Nilfgaard with all his money. Pegasus is ancient, the heater hasn’t worked in years, it breaks down at least once a month, and the windshield is so cracked it barely passes inspection. But it needs to last him until he makes it big again, or until he at least has a job that pays him more than eight crowns an hour.</p>
<p>“That piece of shit is going to explode one of these days,” Priscilla warns one evening as Jaskier tries— and fails— to start his car for the fourth time.</p>
<p>“Don’t call Pegasus a piece of shit!” Jaskier calls over the pathetic spluttering of the engine. “It will just make her angry.”</p>
<p>“That car has been angry since 2012. I’m pretty sure it’s possessed.”</p>
<p>Jaskier makes a face at her. “All the rides I give you, and this is the thanks I get. I should let you walk.”</p>
<p>“Walking’s probably safer. Whatever happened to that mechanic you were dating? You should call her.”</p>
<p>“She dumped me because she couldn’t commit to someone who takes such shit care of their car.”</p>
<p>“Valid of her.”</p>
<p>“Oh, fuck you.”</p>
<p>“I don’t fuck people who take such shit care of their cars.”</p>
<p>“You wound me. Ha!” Jaskier crows as the car wheezes to life. “Take that!”</p>
<p>“Oh, thank fuck. If I’m late for another gig because of this piece of shit—” Pegasus gives a warning splutter and Priscilla’s eyes go wide. “I mean, because of this not at all shitty car, Essi’s going to kill me.”</p>
<p>Grumbling the entire way, Jaskier drives Priscilla to the bar where her band is playing tonight. As she reaches into the backseat for her guitar, she says, “You know, you could join us.”</p>
<p>“Not tonight. Have to work.”</p>
<p>“I know not tonight. But we could really use another vocalist.”</p>
<p>Jaskier looks at the bar full of people. He remembers the rush of performing in front of a crowd— the warmth of too many bodies pressed together, the excited buzz, the thrill of hearing other people singing along to his words. But that was a long time ago. “Maybe someday.”</p>
<p>“Jask.” She sighs. “You have to get back out there sometime. You can’t let Valdo ruin this for you. You’re a damn good singer.”</p>
<p>“I’m not ready, Pris.” Jaskier turns to stare straight ahead. “Now go, or Essi’s going to kill you and I’m going to be fired. Break a leg!”</p>
<p>“Have fun at work. Hope your white-haired sex god comes in.”</p>
<p>“Trust me, so do I.” Jaskier watches her walk away, carrying her guitar case slung over her shoulder. Once she’s inside, he sees her waving to some of the regulars; her band plays here once a month. He feels a twinge of… not quite grief. He’s past grieving for his artistic ambitions. His dreams of playing to sold out stadiums and having his face smiling from the covers of magazines Continent-wide are dead and he’s accepted that.</p>
<p>It still just stings some nights.</p>
<p>Jaskier takes a deep breath to clear his head and heads to work.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Jaskier switched shifts with one of his coworkers, so he’s working an earlier shift than usual. It’s bizarre to be at the E-Z-Go before midnight; they’re actually fairly busy and he has to work with another person. Jaskier spends the evening selling lottery tickets and cigarettes, trying and failing to make smalltalk with his coworker, and stocking the freezer in the back. By the time he leaves just past midnight, he’s just as worn out as if it were 4 AM.</p>
<p>As he walks to his car, he finds himself hoping that Geralt won’t stop by tonight and have to suffer his coworker’s substandard coffee. The white-haired man has stopped by the E-Z-Go a half a dozen times in the month since Jaskier patched up the wound in his shoulder and the sight of his van pulling into the parking lot always puts a smile on Jaskier’s face. Jaskier still hasn’t gotten an explanation for how he got hurt and has given up on trying to fish for one.</p>
<p>But there’s no sign of Geralt’s battered brown van, so Jaskier gets into Pegasus, which starts on the first try for once, and drives away.</p>
<p>He makes it two miles down Route 89 before Pegasus starts making a concerning rattling noise.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
<p>It’s fine, he tells himself and keeps driving. Pegasus makes concerning rattling noises all the time. She hasn’t actually blown up on him yet, despite all of Priscilla’s dire warnings.</p>
<p>A mile later, the car starts to shake so hard that Jaskier can feel his teeth rattling in his head.</p>
<p>If he dies because he didn’t pull over when Pegasus started making weird noises, Priscilla is going to conduct seances to tell him what a fucking idiot he is every day for the rest of her life. With a groan, Jaskier pulls Pegasus onto the shoulder. Before he can even pull the car fully to a stop, the engine gives one final stutter and dies.</p>
<p>Jaskier sits there with his eyes closed for a long minute, trying to keep himself calm. Then he reaches for the cell phone in his jacket pocket— Alan has told him many times that he gets a free tow if he ever has car trouble— and finds nothing.</p>
<p>He pictures himself rifling through his pocket to find his car keys before leaving work, pulling out his wallet and phone and putting them on the counter. He knows exactly where his cell phone is— sitting next to the “Take a penny, leave a penny” jar at the E-Z-Go.</p>
<p>“Fuck.” Jaskier stretches out the word into three syllables, then grabs the flashlight out of his glove compartment and pops the hood of his car.</p>
<p>Under the hood… it looks like a car. His mechanic ex tried to teach him about cars, but Jaskier was way more interested in seeing what was under <em>her</em> hood. Jaskier pokes at the car’s innards, yelps when they turn out to be <em>really fucking hot</em> and looks around, trying to figure out what to do. He’s a good two miles from the nearest exit and he doesn’t fancy the idea of walking along the side of the highway in the dark. But without a cell phone, he doesn’t have any better options.</p>
<p>A little voice in the back of his mind is forcibly reminding him of the murders that have been occurring up and down Route 89 over the last few months. He’s trying very hard to ignore it.</p>
<p>“At least it’s not still winter,” he says out loud to no one, even though the April evening is far from warm. “This would be so much worse if there was a blizzard coming.”</p>
<p>No one replies, though he imagines Pegasus agrees.</p>
<p>“Look,” Jaskier tells Pegasus. “I don’t want to sell you for parts, beautiful. Mostly because I would probably make like fifty crowns from your parts. I want to let you die with dignity when it’s your time. And now is not your time because I need to get home. I was supposed to be home at a reasonable hour for once. I have a pint of ice cream and a beer waiting for me. Why are you doing this to me?”</p>
<p>The car has no explanation for its actions. Jaskier adds this to the long, long list of things to loathe Valdo Marx for.</p>
<p>He’s so busy feeling sorry for himself that he almost doesn’t notice the growl.</p>
<p>Jaskier turns to look into the wooded area along the side of 89. It’s still and silent. Maybe it was his imagination…</p>
<p>Another growl. A bush rustling.</p>
<p>“Probably a raccoon,” Jaskier tells Pegasus, though he’s never heard a raccoon growl. He keeps his eye on the trees as he slides back inside the car, locking the door behind him. His heart is beating just a little too fast. He checks his pockets for his cell phone one more time, just in case, but it hasn’t materialized.</p>
<p>“No need to worry, beautiful.” He pats Pegasus’s dashboard, hands shaking a bit. “I’m sure it’s nothing to—”</p>
<p>Something knocks off the back fender. Jaskier twists around in his seat, but sees nothing.</p>
<p>He swallows and lets out a long, shaky breath. “Oookay.”</p>
<p>A car flies by and, for an instant, he sees it— something large crouched down next to his car. He catches a glint of teeth in the shine of the car’s headlights.</p>
<p>And then the car passes and he can’t see a damn thing anymore.</p>
<p>Jaskier could use his flashlight to see what’s out there.</p>
<p>He really, really doesn’t want to.</p>
<p>Something is breathing. It’s a low, wheezing sound that reminds him of his mother’s asthmatic pug, if his mother’s pug fell into a vat of toxic sludge and became some kind of mutant monster. Jaskier looks straight ahead, too afraid to turn around, as he hears something move along the side of the car. He doesn’t want to look. He doesn’t want to see what’s standing there. He can see it out of the corner of his eye and he <em>knows</em> that it’s looking right at him. He can feel the weight of its hungry gaze on him.</p>
<p>There’s a tap on the window, so light that he would think he was imagining it.</p>
<p>Jaskier is shaking so hard, he can hear his teeth chattering together. He thinks he might throw up. There’s another tap, this one more insistent.</p>
<p>“Please,” he whispers. “I don’t have any money. The car’s worthless. <em>Please.</em>”</p>
<p>He doesn’t think whatever’s outside the car wants his money or his car.</p>
<p>Something slams against the car door and Jaskier lets out a strangled yelp. Despite himself, he turns and stares at the thing standing outside his car. It’s huge and furred and the hand pressed against his window looks somewhere between a human hand and a dog’s paw, tipped with long, curved claws. His brain goes blank because he <em>can’t</em> actually be seeing this. Things like this don’t exist in the real world.</p>
<p>The creature— <em>werewolf</em> his mind whispers, but that can’t be right because werewolves don’t fucking exist— slams against the car door again and the whole car rocks. Terror spurs his paralyzed limbs into movement. He scrambles for the backseat, desperate to put some distance between himself and the thing.</p>
<p>There’s a horrible crunch of metal as his car door is ripped off. A hand wraps around his ankle.</p>
<p>“No!” Jaskier screams, but it’s too late. He’s already being yanked out of his car and thrown to the ground, his palms scraping against the cold pavement. Jaskier scrambles away, terrified, but the thing is on him before he can make it more than a yard away. He’s lifted into the air by the scruff of his shirt and hauled towards the woods.</p>
<p>He knows that as soon as he passes the treeline, out of the sight of the road, he’s dead. He probably already is dead. He thrashes around in the creature’s— not a werewolf, he keeps telling himself— grasp, kicking and flailing his arms uselessly. A distant part of his mind thinks he must look like a cat being forced into a bathtub, scruffed by his neck and struggling desperately. A hysterical laugh bubbles up in his throat and it comes out a strange sobbing noise.</p>
<p>He’s thrown back on the ground, his head ricocheting off a rock. He tastes blood and sees stars, but there’s no time to worry about a head injury. Face down on the ground, he can only curl up in a last ditch effort to protect his vital organs as there’s a snarl above him and hot breath tickles the back of his neck. There’s a moment of dizzying realization that he’s about to die, that this is it, that this thing is going to tear him apart and Priscilla will wake up in the morning to an empty apartment and not know what happened to him…</p>
<p>There’s another snarl, followed by a yelp and a sickening wet noise</p>
<p>Then silence.</p>
<p>Jaskier doesn’t move. He doesn’t open his eyes— and he’s just now realizing that he has his eyes squeezed shut. He hears footsteps crunching on the frozen ground, coming closer, and he stops breathing.</p>
<p>“Jaskier.” The voice is low, gravelly, and beautifully familiar.</p>
<p>Slowly, Jaskier lifts his head. He can’t see much in the dark, but a broad-shouldered outline, a glint of white hair in the moonlight. “Geralt?” His voice is a terrified whisper.</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Geralt says. “You’re safe. Are you hurt?”</p>
<p>“No.” Which isn’t entirely true; Jaskier’s head is killing him and he thinks his forehead is bleeding.</p>
<p>Geralt must notice because he grunts and kneels down in front of Jaskier. When gentle fingers brush his forehead, Jaskier unthinkingly leans into the touch.</p>
<p>“Not as bad as it looks,” Geralt murmurs. “Head wounds bleed like a bitch.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, remember that from band camp. There was one girl who had no compunctions about using her tuba as a bludgeon.”</p>
<p>Geralt snorts. “Seems dangerous. Can you stand?”</p>
<p>Jaskier nods and clambers to his feet, leaning on Geralt for support. Another car flies by, illuminating the woods, and Jaskier looks down just in time to see the corpse of the thing that attacked him. But it’s not a large, furred beast. Instead, it’s a middle-aged man with a stocky build, a gaping mouth, and vacant dark eyes. He’s been cut nearly in half.</p>
<p>Jaskier could have gone his whole life without knowing what a person’s insides look like and would have been perfectly fine with that.</p>
<p>He looks up at Geralt and sees that the other man’s eyes have gone totally black.</p>
<p>Jaskier doesn’t realize he’s falling until Geralt shouts his name. His head hits the ground and everything goes dark.</p>
<p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier is haunted in the aftermath of a night he can’t quite remember.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It wasn’t even the fucking katakan. It was a werewolf. Probably thought it could use the katakan’s killings to cover up its own.”</p>
<p>“You normally try to cure werewolves.”</p>
<p>“Not this one. It was about to kill the kid. Couldn’t let that happen”</p>
<p>Jaskier’s head is killing him. He’s lying on something soft and he’s uncomfortably warm.</p>
<p>“What now?”</p>
<p>“Just need to tie up some loose ends.”</p>
<p>The deeper voice is definitely Geralt’s. The second voice, a woman’s, is unfamiliar. Jaskier keeps his eyes shut as he tries to figure out what the fuck is going on. Memories start coming back to him in fragments.</p>
<p>The snarl in the woods.</p>
<p>The tap on the car window.</p>
<p>The enormous creature ripping off his car door and dragging him from the car.</p>
<p>The dead man cut in half.</p>
<p>Geralt’s black eyes.</p>
<p><em>Loose ends.</em>  Jaskier is fairly certain he counts as a loose end.</p>
<p>He sits up, registering that he’s lying on the ugliest orange futon known to man in the back of a van. He looks around frantically. Someone clearly lives in this van: besides the futon, there are several plastic bins for storage and a minifridge. There’s a brown rug on the ground that somehow manages to out-ugly the futon and plaid curtains over the windows. The only personal touch is a picture of a little girl of about eight with ashen blond hair and big green eyes taped over the futon.</p>
<p>“We can’t let him remember anything,” he hears Geralt say.</p>
<p>The woman sighs. “Magic like that is tricky, Geralt. You don’t know how he’s going to react.”</p>
<p>“Probably better than he did when he almost got eaten by a fucking werewolf. If anyone can do it, it’s you, Yenn.”</p>
<p>“If you’re trying to sweet talk me, you’re about six hundred years too late.” </p>
<p> The back doors of the van slide open. Jaskier expects Geralt, but instead there’s a stunningly beautiful woman with long dark hair and violet eyes.</p>
<p>“Oh, good, you’re awake,” she says. “Head trauma can’t be that bad then.”</p>
<p>“Should I have called Triss?” Geralt’s voice says behind her.</p>
<p>“No, you should not have called Triss.” The woman jumps up into the van with more grace than one human should possess. “It’s bad enough you fucked up my Friday night. You know, I do have better things to do than clean up your messes, Geralt.”</p>
<p>The phrase <em>loose ends</em> is still rattling around in Jaskier’s brain. He’s seen enough mob movies to know what happens to loose ends. As the woman approaches, he holds up a hand to ward her off. “Wait,” he croaks.</p>
<p>“Everything’s fine, Jaskier,” she says. “Give me a couple of minutes, and the only casualty of this night will be my plans for the weekend. And the werewolf, I suppose.”</p>
<p>And before Jaskier can ask who the fuck she is, she touches his forehead and everything goes dark for the second time that night.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>When Jaskier wakes up, it’s to Priscilla standing over him. “You forgot about brunch, didn’t you?” she asks.</p>
<p>He blinks up at her. “Huh?”</p>
<p>“Jaskier, we have reservations for brunch today, remember? We’re supposed to leave in ten minutes!”</p>
<p>That does nothing to clear Jaskier’s head. He looks around his room, slowly taking it in. His head feels like it’s full of cotton. He’s still in the clothes he wore to work last night; his shoes are discarded by the bed and his jacket and vest hang on the back of his closet door.</p>
<p>“He forgot about brunch, didn’t he?” Priscilla’s girlfriend, Shani, appears in the doorway.</p>
<p>Jaskier groans and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. He does remember making plans for brunch, a rare treat when he’s normally at work until 4 AM. He just doesn’t remember anything else.</p>
<p>“You didn’t take too many sleeping pills, did you?” Shani asks, concerning replacing the amusement in her voice. “You look like shit.”</p>
<p>“Don’t think so.” Jaskier glances over at the bottle of sleeping pills— which he needs to deal with his irregular sleep schedule since he started working the night shift. It’s where he always keeps it, right next to his alarm clock.</p>
<p>And then he has the barest hint of memory— Pegasus.</p>
<p>“Oh, shit.” He jolts to his feet.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” Priscilla asks, but Jaskier is already crossing to the window to look down at the parking lot below…</p>
<p>And sees Pegasus sitting in her usual spot, perfectly intact. Well, no less intact than she was yesterday.</p>
<p>“Jask?” Priscilla comes up behind him, voice gentle. “You okay?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Jaskier doesn't know <em>what</em> is so wrong about Pegasus being parked where he parks her every morning.</p>
<p>
  <em>The screech of metal being torn. A clawed hand wrapping around his ankle.</em>
</p>
<p>He shudders.</p>
<p>“Jask?”</p>
<p>Jaskier turns to his friends. Priscilla and Shani are looking at him with open concern. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Did something happen at work last night?” Shani asks.</p>
<p>“I…” Jaskier trails off. Work the night before is a blur in his memory. It was busy, he remembers, and that’s it.</p>
<p>
  <em>The sickening sound of a blade ripping through flesh.</em>
</p>
<p>“No,” he says, realizing that he hasn’t said anything and the worry on Priscilla’s face is starting to give away to outright fear. “Nothing happened. Quiet night. I just feel weird.”</p>
<p>“What time did you get home?” she asks.</p>
<p>Jaskier frowns. He doesn’t even remember getting off of work or driving home.</p>
<p>Shani points at the bed. “Go back to sleep.”</p>
<p>“But brunch.”</p>
<p>“We’ll survive without you. Get some rest and we’ll bring you home pancakes.”</p>
<p>“Chocolate chip?”</p>
<p>“Obviously.” Priscilla reaches up to ruffle his hair. “This job is going to wear you to the bone.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Teeth glinting in the glow of oncoming headlights.</em>
</p>
<p>“I think it already has, Pris.” Jaskier reaches up to touch his forehead. He feels like he should find a cut or a bruise or <em>something</em> but his head just aches.</p>
<p>“You’ll feel better after some rest,” Priscilla tells him sternly.</p>
<p>Jaskier learned his freshman year of college that listening to Priscilla and Shani is usually the right call— and if he had listened to them about Valdo, his life would look much different today— so he does what they say and goes back to bed. But when he drifts into an uneasy sleep, his dreams are full of bloodied bodies, black eyes, and sharp teeth.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Jaskier calls in sick that night and has the next two days off from the E-Z-Go, which gives him some time before he goes back to work. The drive is uneventful— Pegasus is driving more smoothly than she has in years— and his shift equally so. There’s no reason for him to startle whenever the bell over the door chimes or flinch when a horn beeps somewhere nearby. There’s no reason for him to be so on edge, half-expecting to find someone standing behind him whenever he turns around.</p>
<p>It’s just past 2 AM and Jaskier is in the middle of a conversation with Alan when the bell chimes and Geralt walks in.</p>
<p>Jaskier freezes mid-sentence, heart suddenly racing, and not with the smitten flutter it normally does in Geralt’s presence. Fear thrills through him like an electric shock. He knows it’s irrational. This is Geralt, who smiles at Jaskier’s jokes and stops by just for Jaskier’s coffee and—</p>
<p>
  <em>Black eyes. The glint of teeth. Blood on the frozen ground.</em>
</p>
<p>Geralt’s expression is perfectly blank, the only movement of his face the flare of his nostrils, like he’s inhaling something unpleasant.</p>
<p>He looks at Jaskier. Jaskier looks back, frozen.</p>
<p>Alan turns to stare at Geralt. “Everything okay here?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Jaskier breathes.</p>
<p>With an odd jerk of his head, Geralt turns to leave. Alan and Jaskier both watch as he prowls back to the van.</p>
<p>“That boy’s eyes are all wrong,” Alan says conversationally. “I’ve seen him in here before, haven’t I?”</p>
<p>Jaskier nods, keeping his gaze down, hoping the man won’t sense his unease.</p>
<p>“Thought so. Can’t forget eyes like that. Remind me of the scary stories my grandpa used to tell me when I was little. He used to say if I was bad, the witchers would come and take me away.”</p>
<p>“Witchers?” Jaskier frowns at him.</p>
<p>“You haven’t heard of witchers? They used to be monster hunters, back in the post-Conjunction days. They were barely human after all the mutations they put them through, my grandpa used to say.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s van still hasn’t moved. Jaskier feels a shiver of unease, like Geralt can still hear them all the way from the parking lot.</p>
<p>“You should be careful around him.” Alan eyes the van with distrust. “Don’t like the looks of him.”</p>
<p>“He’s just another regular, Alan. Comes in for the coffee. It’s nothing to worry about.”</p>
<p>“They say witchers became as monstrous as the things they hunted and humanity had to rise up and put them down like the beasts they were.”</p>
<p>Jaskier swallows. “Well, if I ever meet a witcher, I’ll keep that in mind.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The next time Jaskier sees Geralt, it’s a rainy Tuesday night a month later. Jaskier is stocking shelves and singing along to his music when the door bangs open. He turns around to see Geralt come rushing through the door, raindrops splattering his jacket and white hair plastered to his forehead. Trailing behind him is a petite, ashen-haired girl of about twelve, looking disgruntled. Something about her sparks something in Jaskier’s memory, but it’s hard to focus on that under the rush of dread that floods him at the sight of Geralt.</p>
<p>
  <em>The tap of a claw on the glass.</em>
</p>
<p>Jaskier shakes away the hazy, nightmarish image. “Here for coffee?” He tries for the breezy, casual tone he once would have used with Geralt, but his voice comes out high-pitched and strained.</p>
<p>“No.” Geralt gestures to the girl. “I need somewhere safe to leave her for a while.”</p>
<p>Jaskier blinks at him, then at the girl, who scowls back at him.. In his confusion, he almost forgets his fear. “Geralt, this isn’t a <em>daycare.</em>”</p>
<p>It’s apparently the wrong thing to say, because the girl’s expression turns downright murderous. “I’m twelve. I don’t need a daycare.”</p>
<p>“Ciri,” Geralt says warningly, then turns to Jaskier. “I’m sorry, but this is an emergency and I don’t have anywhere else to leave her.”</p>
<p>“What—”</p>
<p>“It won’t be long.” Geralt is already backing towards the door. “I’ll be back soon.”</p>
<p>“I can help!” the girl, Ciri, cries.</p>
<p>“No, you need to stay here.” Geralt looks between Jaskier and Ciri, looking lost and slightly desperate. “Just, both of you, stay here.”</p>
<p>“I’m working. Where else would I go?” But Geralt is already gone, the door slamming behind him. With a groan, Jaskier turns to Ciri. It’s a chilly night and she’s shivering a bit. “Are you old enough to drink coffee?”</p>
<p>“Probably not,” she says mulishly.</p>
<p>“Excellent. Let’s get you a cup.” That will teach Geralt to leave a fucking child in Jaskier’s care. Honestly, he can barely keep a houseplant alive, what did Geralt expect him to do with a kid?</p>
<p>Jaskier pours both of them cups of coffee, adding liberal amounts of milk and sugar to Ciri’s, and asks, “So, you’re Geralt’s…”</p>
<p>“Daughter.” She sticks her chin out mulishly, as if expecting him to argue.</p>
<p>Somehow, Jaskier can’t picture Geralt as a parent, but Ciri does look a little bit like him, what with the almost-white hair. He wonders if there’s a Mrs. Geralt. He didn’t see a ring. “And your mother couldn’t take you tonight?”</p>
<p>“She and my stepmother are busy,” Ciri says.</p>
<p>Ah, so there isn’t a Mrs. Geralt. Or if there is, she isn’t Ciri’s mother. A month ago, that would have been a relief.</p>
<p>“So who are you?” she demands.</p>
<p>Jaskier blinks at her. “Oh, I’m Jaskier. I work here.”</p>
<p>“Really? I thought you were wearing that vest for fun.” Her voice is completely flat, almost like Geralt’s, and Jaskier decides he likes this kid.</p>
<p>He snorts. “No, yellow’s never really been my color.”</p>
<p>“But why would Geralt leave me with you?”</p>
<p>“I have absolutely no idea. Why did he leave you here? Is something wrong?”</p>
<p>Ciri adopts a squirrely expression and takes a sip of her coffee, then wrinkles her nose. “Fuck, this is gross. Why do you drink this?”</p>
<p>“Language,” Jaskier says, because that seems to be the kind of thing adults say to twelve year olds.</p>
<p>She barks a laugh. “Is that why Geralt’s always so grumpy? Because he drinks so much of this?”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t know.” Jaskier shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t know Geralt that well.”</p>
<p>She pins him with a too keen look. “Why are you afraid of Geralt?”</p>
<p>Jaskier opens his mouth reflexively, ready to say he’s not afraid of Geralt, then snaps it closed. In truth, he has no idea why he’s suddenly paralyzed with terror whenever Geralt walks into the store. Not that long ago, he used to look forward to Geralt’s visits. He used to wear his nicest jeans to work and make sure his hair was perfectly tousled, just in case the man walked through the door. So he doesn’t know why whenever he thinks of Geralt now, he also thinks of terror and violence and blood on the ground.</p>
<p>He’s spent most of the last month feeling like he was missing something, like the feeling of walking into a room and instantly forgetting why he was there in the first place.</p>
<p>“I’m not,” he finally says. The words don’t sound convincing to his own ears.</p>
<p>“That’s what he said when we were on our way here. That you wouldn’t want to see him because you’re afraid of him.”</p>
<p>Jaskier swallows back the lump of shame in his throat. “I don’t know,” he says.</p>
<p>“Well, you shouldn’t be.” She says it with an air of authority. “Geralt is good. He helps people. He helped <em>you.</em>” She suddenly looks mortified, like she’s said too much.</p>
<p>Jaskier still has no idea what’s going on. “Like I said, I don’t know Geralt very well. He seems nice though. Excellent taste in coffee, which he obviously didn’t pass on to his kid.”</p>
<p>She makes a face at him and some of the tension breaks.</p>
<p>“Want to help me stock shelves?” Jaskier asks her.</p>
<p>“Not really.” She wrinkles her nose. “But I guess it’s better than sitting here bored out of my mind.”</p>
<p>“That’s the spirit.” Jaskier grins at her and tries not to think of the worried look on Geralt’s face and wonder where the hell he is.</p>
<p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After a friend of Jaskier’s is badly injured, he decides that it’s time for him and Geralt to have a talk.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Bullshit.”</p>
<p>Jaskier has given up on trying to correct Ciri’s language. She swears like a tiny sailor, a habit she apparently picked up from her “Uncle Lambert.” He puts a hand to his chest and adopts a wounded expression. “Ciri, have I ever lied to you?”</p>
<p>She looks unimpressed. “We’ve known each other for like two hours.”</p>
<p>“And I thought we’d built up some trust here.” Jaskier shakes his head. “I’m telling you, there’s a ghost in the walk-in freezer in the back.”</p>
<p>“Ghosts don’t exist.”</p>
<p>“This one does! The lights turn off by themselves, the door slams shut unexpectedly. There’s a reason I don’t stock the freezer when I’m here by myself anymore. I got locked in there too many times. The ghost has it out for me, I’m telling you.”</p>
<p>“Or maybe you should find something sturdier to prop the door open.” Ciri huffs with exasperation. “Yennefer always says that people look for evidence of the supernatural everywhere but when it’s right in front of them, they’re oblivious.”</p>
<p>“Yennefer?” The name sparks something in Jaskier’s memory.</p>
<p>“My mother,” Ciri says.</p>
<p>That’s a strange piece of wisdom for a mother to impart on her twelve year old, but from the little Ciri has told him about her family, they’re far from conventional. “Huh. Well, tell Yennefer she’s more than welcome to stop by and stock the freezer herself if she doesn’t believe me.”</p>
<p>Ciri giggles and goes back to shelving. It’s been nearly two hours since Geralt dropped her off and she’s become chattier as the night goes on, wanting to hear all of Jaskier’s weirdest night shift stories and only calling the music he’s listening to “old people music” once. Jaskier finds her delightful, though his shift will be over in twenty minutes and he’s not sure what he’ll do with her if Geralt isn’t back yet. He can’t exactly leave her with the next shift, nor can he take her with him.</p>
<p>But it turns out not to be a problem when the door swings open and Geralt comes striding in, looking downright haggard.</p>
<p>“Geralt!” Ciri looks like someone who dearly wants to throw herself into her father’s arms, but also feels like she’s too old for such things. After a moment’s hesitation, she rushes to him.</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” Geralt murmurs, putting an arm around her and squeezing her close.”Everything’s fine.”</p>
<p>Jaskier can still feel the uneasiness lurking in the back of his mind, but it’s impossible to be truly afraid of Geralt when he’s being so sweet and gentle with his daughter. Geralt looks up and when he sees Jaskier watching, he nods awkwardly in greeting.</p>
<p>Ciri lets go of her father. “Thanks for the coffee, Jaskier.”</p>
<p>“Anytime, kiddo,” he says. “Thanks for helping with the shelving.”</p>
<p>“I would say anytime, but I’d rather not do that again.” She reaches into Geralt’s jacket pocket and plucks out his car keys. “I’m going to go wait in the car, Geralt. Bye, Jaskier!”</p>
<p>“Bye!” Jaskier feels a twist of nervousness as the door closes behind her, but forces himself to turn and face the other man.</p>
<p>Geralt hasn’t moved from his position by the door. He’s watching Jaskier with a guarded expression. “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“No worries.” Jaskier’s voice is bright with false cheer. “She was a delight. And I don’t think you have to worry about her growing up addicted to caffeine, because she said my coffee was gross, if you can believe it.”</p>
<p>“She’s a tea snob, like her mother,” Geralt says dryly.</p>
<p>“Well, that explains it.”</p>
<p>“I, uh, had a work emergency come up. It won’t happen again.”</p>
<p>“It’s really okay, Geralt,” Jaskier says softly. “I mean, it’s not, because I would totally get fired if anyone found out about this. Also, I’m really not qualified to look after children. I can barely look after myself. We’re very lucky no one lost any limbs here.”</p>
<p>Geralt snorts. “It looks like you did just fine.”</p>
<p>“I managed to pull through.” Jaskier stops and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I babble when I'm nervous.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to be nervous around me.” Geralt’s voice gentles.</p>
<p>Objectively, Jaskier knows that. If only his stupid hindbrain would get the message. “Is your work emergency all settled?”</p>
<p>“No,” Geralt says. “It won’t be settled for a while.”</p>
<p>Jaskier waits for more information. When it’s not forthcoming, he says, “Well, I’m glad I could help.”</p>
<p>“I am too.” Geralt tilts his head to the side, regarding Jaskier with an inscrutable expression. “What do I owe you for her coffee?”</p>
<p>“On the house. She’s my new favorite customer.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s lips curl into a tiny smile. “I’m happy to lose the position to her.”</p>
<p>And fuck, that smile still does things to Jaskier. “Have a good night, Geralt. Or—” He glances at the clock. “A good morning, really.”</p>
<p>“You too, Jaskier.” Geralt turns and leaves. Jaskier watches him cross the parking lot to the van, feeling oddly hollow.</p>
<p>In his pocket, his cell phone buzzes. Jaskier frowns. No one he knows is awake at 4 AM. When he sees that it’s Shani his blood runs cold. There are no good reasons that she would be calling him at this hour.</p>
<p>“Jaskier?” Shani, an ER doctor, is normally unflappable. Right now, her voice is shaking so hard that Jaskier can barely understand her. “It’s Priscilla.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The soles of Jaskier’s shoes squeak on the linoleum floor as he paces back and forth across the waiting room. Essi and Priscilla’s other two bandmates are huddled together, Essi crying into the drummer, Sven’s, shoulder. Jaskier has gotten the story from them in bits and pieces— they were coming back from a show in Tretogor. Priscilla needed to pee, so insisted on making a pit stop at a fast food place. Her bandmates  waited and waited, but she never came back. When Essi went to look for her, she found Priscilla unconscious in the bathroom, lying in a pool of blood with a wound in her neck.</p>
<p>“It looked like something <em>bit</em> her,” she told Jaskier through tears.</p>
<p>Jaskier’s hands are shaking. He fists them at his side. Priscilla has been his best friend since their freshman year of college, when they sang in an acapella group together. When Valdo left him high and dry, she let him crash at her place for months before he could afford to pay his half of the rent. She’s been there through every lost job and disaster relationship and dark moment. The thought that she could just be <em>gone</em> is beyond his worst nightmares.</p>
<p>Footsteps approach and he turns to see Shani walking towards them, looking more haggard than Jaskier has ever seen her. She’s wearing pajama pants; she must have been in bed when Essi called her.</p>
<p>“How is she?” Jaskier asks hoarsely.</p>
<p>Shani scrubs a hand over her face. “Sedated and stable. She lost a lot of blood, but they think she’s going to pull through.”</p>
<p>Jaskier closes his eyes and pulls her into a hug. “Thank fuck.”</p>
<p>“But her throat…” Shani’s voice catches. “They think it’s going to be a long time before she can speak again. And they don’t know if she’ll ever be able to sing again.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Jaskier stays at the hospital well past dawn, only heading home when Shani threatens him with bodily harm if he doesn’t go home and get some sleep. He goes home and tries to sleep, but when he drifts off, his dreams are full of screaming, terror, and being dragged from his car. But instead of him, it’s Priscilla screaming as she’s pulled away. It’s Priscilla torn in half on the forest floor. It’s Priscilla bleeding out alone in a bathroom.</p>
<p>After waking up in a cold sweat twice, Jaskier gives up on sleep, eats a quick bowl of cereal, and heads back to the hospital, stopping on the way to grab coffee for himself and Shani. He’s called out of work tonight so he can spend the rest of the day at Priscilla’s bedside. When she wakes up, he wants to be there.</p>
<p>He’s pushing open the door to Priscilla’s room with his hip when he looks up into a pair of violet eyes.</p>
<p>Jaskier freezes. Shani is nowhere to be seen and he doesn’t know either of the women who are standing on either side of Priscilla’s bed. One of them is dressed in all black, with long black hair and violet eyes. The other is wearing a green sundress, with honey brown eyes and curly dark hair. They’re both stunningly beautiful, but that’s not why he can’t drag his eyes away from the violet-eyed woman.</p>
<p>He knows her. But he doesn’t know <em>how</em> he knows her. Surely, he would remember meeting someone who looks like that.</p>
<p>“Oh, fuck, it’s you,” she says.</p>
<p>Jaskier is taken aback. To be fair, that’s the reaction of quite a few people when they see him. But typically, they’re people he can remember meeting before. “Uh, who are you?”</p>
<p>“Friends of Priscilla’s,” the second woman says with a warm smile. “We’re just heading out now. So sorry to intrude.”</p>
<p>“How do you know her?” the violet-eyed woman demands.</p>
<p>“She’s my best friend.” Jaskier is exhausted, putting his usually short temper even more on the brink of snapping. “Which you would know if you were friends of hers.”</p>
<p>“Like I said, so sorry to intrude.” The far nicer of the two women puts a hand on her companion’s arm. “Come on, Yennefer.”</p>
<p>“Yennefer?” Jaskier knows that name. “Ciri’s mom?”</p>
<p>Yennefer’s lips press into a thin line. “How do you know Ciri?”</p>
<p>“I met her last night. Geralt—” It occurs to Jaskier that Ciri’s mother might not be thrilled to learn that Geralt left her alone with a virtual stranger for hours. “Geralt stopped by the E-Z-Go with her.”</p>
<p>“Did he,” she says flatly. “Well, we’ll get out of your hair.”</p>
<p>Jaskier has more questions, because he knows for a fact that Priscilla isn’t friends with the mother of Geralt’s child, but the two women are gone before he can put them to words, the second woman shooting him an apologetic look as they leave. Jaskier stares after them, feeling rather like he just ran into a brick wall, but he doesn’t know <em>why.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>“We can’t let him remember anything.”</em>
</p>
<p>“Jaskier?” The voice is small and hoarse, but it’s the best sound he’s ever heard. He was worried he would never hear that voice again. He turns around to see Priscilla looking at him with hazy blue eyes.</p>
<p>“Pris!” Jaskier wants to throw his arms around her, but he’s afraid he’ll jostle one of the many tubes coming out of her. “You’re awake! How do you feel?”</p>
<p>“Like I got hit by a truck.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “Did I get hit by a truck?”</p>
<p>“No, not quite.” Jaskier realizes he’s crying. Impatiently, he scrubs the tears away. “You don’t remember what happened?”</p>
<p>“No,” she whispers. “Who were those women?”</p>
<p>“You didn’t know them?”</p>
<p>“No, I don’t think so. Fuck, my neck itches.”</p>
<p>“Don’t—” Jaskier protests as she reaches for the bandages around her neck, but she’s already pulling them away. But instead of seeing an ugly, raw wound and stitches, all he sees is scar tissue. The gaping wound that Shani described to him the night before is no more than a long, pale scar on Priscilla’s throat.</p>
<p>“What?” Priscilla asks when she notices Jaskier staring. “Fuck, what’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“Nothing.” Jaskier shakes his head, unable to comprehend what he’s seeing. “What’s the last thing you remember?”</p>
<p>“Leaving the show.” Her brow furrows. “And I think we may have stopped? I had to pee and I wanted french fries. But after that…” She trails off.</p>
<p>“It’s okay.” He bends to press a kiss to her forehead. “Just rest. I’m going to go get Shani.”</p>
<p>“I think there was a man there,” she says.</p>
<p>Jaskier goes still. “A man?”</p>
<p>“I remember him standing over me, trying to talk to me. He had white hair and yellow eyes. His eyes were weird. The pupils were slitted, like a cat’s.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>When Jaskier goes to get Shani, they return to find that Priscilla has fallen back asleep. When she wakes, she doesn’t seem to remember anything about Yennefer and her companion’s visit or what she told Jaskier about the man with the slit-pupiled eyes. Jaskier knows he should say something to the police when they stop by to interview her, but he doesn’t even know where to begin.</p>
<p>Nothing about this makes sense. It doesn’t make sense that Geralt would drop Ciri off at the E-Z-Go, go attack Priscilla ten miles away, and then come back and act like nothing was wrong. It doesn’t make sense that Yennefer would show up in Priscilla’s hospital room the next morning. It doesn’t make sense that Priscilla’s wounds would do months’ worth of healing in the time it took Shani to pop down to the cafeteria to grab herself some breakfast.</p>
<p>When Jaskier goes to the E-Z-Go the next night, he keeps the Countess close. He moves on autopilot, making stilted small talk with Alan and the handful of truckers who stop in. When Geralt’s van pulls up in front of the E-Z-Go, Jaskier reaches down to grab the Countess. He watches as Geralt slides out of the van and walks towards the store. By the time Geralt slips inside, Jaskier is vibrating with tension. He stands up and slams the Countess on the counter. Geralt’s eyes go wide.</p>
<p>“We need to talk,” Jaskier tells Geralt in what he was hoping would be a commanding voice. If it comes out a little squeaky, Geralt doesn’t say anything.</p>
<p>“Jaskier—”</p>
<p>“Did you do it? Did you hurt Priscilla?”</p>
<p>“No.” Geralt’s voice is so quiet, Jaskier can barely hear it.</p>
<p>“Do you know who did?”</p>
<p>Geralt’s jaw works. “Yes.”</p>
<p>“Who?”</p>
<p>“That’s a long story.”</p>
<p>“And one you’re going to tell me.”</p>
<p>There’s the sound of music blaring as a sports car whips into the parking lot. An alarming number of young men for how small the car is come pouring out of it. Geralt grimaces. “Not here.”</p>
<p>“If you think I’m going to a secondary location with you, you have another think coming.”</p>
<p>“What time do you get off?”</p>
<p>Jaskier swallows. “In about an hour.”</p>
<p>“Come to the diner down the road. I’ll tell you everything, okay?” Geralt’s expression is open and oddly vulnerable.</p>
<p>“Why would I do that?”</p>
<p>“Because you have questions, but I can’t answer them here.”</p>
<p>Jaskier opens his mouth to reply, but then the boys come spilling into the store, yelling about cheese puffs and cigarettes, and Geralt slips out without another word.</p>
<p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Geralt and Jaskier have a talk.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier is pretty sure that going to a diner to meet a man who he thinks may be either some kind of supernatural serial killer or a hitman might be the worst decision he’s ever made, far worse than giving Valdo Marx access to his bank account or his brief, devastating time as a bottle blonde. He’s never had a lick of self-preservation when it comes to attractive people and that has never been more apparent than this moment, when he walks into the diner alone and unarmed, fully aware that there’s a good chance that he’s about to be murdered.</p>
<p>This is the diner where a waitress was killed in the parking lot only a couple of months before. There’s a small shrine to her at the hostess stand, with a framed photo of a smiling, moon-faced redhead accompanied by a little teddy bear and a cluster of electric candles. Jaskier hopes he’s not about to meet the same grisly fate as he looks around the diner. He spots Geralt in a booth in the back corner, looking terribly out of place among the orange vinyl, fluorescent lights, and colorful posters on the wall. When he sees Jaskier, he raises his hand in an awkward wave.</p>
<p>Jaskier takes his time walking towards him, fighting the urge to turn tail and flee in the opposite direction.</p>
<p>“You didn’t bring the bat,” Geralt says as Jaskier approaches.</p>
<p>“I thought about it.” And right now, Jaskier really wishes he had. He would feel a lot better with the Countess in his hands. “But restaurants tend not to let you in when you’re armed.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” From the look on Geralt’s face, Jaskier assumes he has at least one weapon hidden on him. “You can sit.”</p>
<p>Jaskier lowers himself into the seat across from Geralt. When the waitress comes to pour him some coffee, he orders some chocolate chip pancakes, because if he’s going to die, he’s going to die with sugar and carbs in his system. Geralt orders eggs, bacon, and toast.</p>
<p>“So, who are you?” Jaskier asks as soon as the waitress walks away.</p>
<p>“I told you. Geralt.”</p>
<p>Jaskier stares at him, unamused.</p>
<p>Geralt stares down into his own mug of coffee. “My name is Geralt of Rivia. I’m a witcher.”</p>
<p>Jaskier remembers his conversation with Alan weeks ago. <em>“That boy’s eyes aren’t right,”<em> Alan said. Looking into Geralt’s slit-pupiled yellow eyes, the ones that Jaskier has always assumed were contact lenses, he realizes how right Alan was. Those eyes don’t seem human.</em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Those aren’t contact lenses, are they?” he asks quietly.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Geralt shakes his head. “No.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Witchers were monster hunters, right?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Still are.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Monsters don’t exist.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Are you sure about that?” Geralt’s voice is gentle.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I’m not sure about much, actually.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The edges of Geralt’s mouth curl upwards. “Neither am I.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“So what, you travel up and down Route 89, hunting monsters?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I travel all over hunting monsters. I’ve just been sticking to this area lately because of the katakan.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“The what now?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“It’s a type of vampire.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Jaskier swallows, remembering the scar on Priscilla’s throat. “Is that what’s been killing people?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Geralt nods. “It’s what attacked your friend. I was in time to scare it off, but I had to choose between chasing after it and staying to help her.” He hesitates. “I recognized her, from when I brought you back to your apartment. I knew she was your friend. I didn’t want to leave her alone.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“From when you brought me back to my apartment.” Jaskier’s grip tightens on the coffee cup until his knuckles turn white. “Something happened to me on my way home one night, didn’t it? I keep having these weird dreams.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“You were attacked by a werewolf,” Geralt says.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>And then Jaskier can see it as clearly as if it’s standing in front of him right now: a snarling twisted face, a gaping maw full of teeth, a clawed hand pressed against the window of his car. “Why don’t I remember it?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“There aren’t many of us witchers left,” Geralt says. “Only six of us, when there used to be six entire schools. Humans used to be afraid of us. They hunted us, wiped out entire schools in massacres. The only reason they don’t come after us anymore is because hardly anyone knows that we exist. We’re very careful to make sure it stays that way.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“So…”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Ciri’s mother, Yennefer, is a sorceress. She wiped your memory.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Jaskier tries to wrap his mind around a world where witchers, sorceresses, vampires, and werewolves exist. He fails miserably. “What?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I’m sorry. Mind magic like that isn’t easy and she was under pressure. It seems like you remembered just enough to be terrified of me.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Jaskier remembers the first time he saw Geralt after that bizarre night, the uncomprehending panic he felt at the sight of him. “But you saved me.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Geralt isn’t looking at him, instead tracing his finger over the image of a strangely proportioned dick scratched into the tabletop. “I drove by and saw your car broken down on the side of the road. I was worried you would be in danger with the katakan on the prowl. Didn’t expect that a werewolf would get to you first.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Well, I’ve always been a magnet for trouble.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Apparently so.” Geralt glances up at him. Some of his white hair has slipped out of his ponytail and Jaskier is filled with the odd urge to reach out and brush it out of his face. He tightens his grip on his mug.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“So all these dreams I’ve been having for the last few months are memories.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yes. If it makes you feel better, your dreams would be much worse if you could remember all of it.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“That doesn’t help, actually. At all.” Jaskier swallows. “Can Yennefer reverse it?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“No. I am sorry.” Geralt hesitates. “I hoped that you wouldn’t get involved in any of this.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I would also very much like to not be involved in this, but this thing attacked my best friend and…” Jaskier breaks off, taking a deep breath. “Thank you. For saving me and for saving her.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I didn’t do much. Just used Axii to keep her calm and kept pressure on the wound until I heard someone coming.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I don’t think she would still be alive if you hadn’t been there.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“No,” Geralt says softly. “Probably not.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“And without you, she wouldn’t be healed.” Jaskier feels a lump of emotion rise in his throat. “They weren’t sure if she would ever talk again, let alone sing, and now her voice is almost back to normal.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“That was all Yennefer and her wife, Triss.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Why?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Because I was too slow to save your friend from getting her throat torn out. I wanted to make it right, so I asked them to help.” Geralt glances away again. “I came to the hospital after I got Ciri home to Yennefer’s. You didn’t see me, but I could hear you talking to your other friend. I heard you start to cry when you found out Priscilla wouldn’t sing again. That was my fault.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Jaskier doesn’t know why Geralt would care so much about Jaskier’s sorrow and fear for his best friend. He doesn’t know what he did to make this man care about him at all. He almost doesn’t want to ask, but he can’t stop himself. “Why does it matter to you?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Geralt lifts one shoulder into a shrug. “I’ve been alive a long time. There aren’t a lot of people out there who are unthinkingly kind. You had no reason to give me free coffee or patch me up when I was hurt. You had no reason to be happy to see me every time I showed up.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The thought that all it takes to win Geralt’s loyalty is some free coffee and a little kindness breaks Jaskier’s heart. “How long have you been alive, Geralt?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Hm. When was the First Nilfgaardian War?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“The thirteenth century?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I was about eighty when that happened.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Jaskier stares at him. “You’re a thousand years old.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Geralt looks almost offended at that. “Closer to nine hundred.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Melitele’s sweet fucking tits.” The waitress, bringing their food, gives Jaskier a deeply offended look. He offers her an apologetic smile in return. As soon as she walks away, he leans across the table, “You’ve been alive for centuries.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yes.” Geralt arches an eyebrow at him.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“You’ve basically seen the entire history of the Continent.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I’m not <em>that</em> old. You sound like Ciri. She once asked me if I ever met a dinosaur.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Have you?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Geralt levels him with a stern look that’s belied by the fond curl of his lips. “No.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“So, is Ciri a witcher in training?” Jaskier asks around a mouthful of pancakes.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“She wishes.” Geralt huffs out a fond breath. “Ciri’s adopted. I saved her father’s life and asked for the Law of Surprise as payment, not realizing his girlfriend was pregnant at the time.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Now I know you’re old. The Law of Surprise hasn’t been a thing for centuries.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Geralt grumbles good-naturedly at that. “Her parents died four years ago and I adopted her. She lives with Yennefer and Triss in Vizima most of the time, though she travels with me two weekends a month. I live in my van. Not really conducive to raising a kid.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“You live in your van?” Jaskier is mildly horrified.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Geralt shrugs. “It’s not so bad. No sense renting a place, when I travel all over the Continent anyway.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Jaskier shakes his head. “You must have so many stories.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“A few.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I want to hear <em>all</em> of them.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“As you keep saying, I’m old. I have a lot of them.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I have nowhere to be.” Jaskier grins at him over a forkful of pancakes.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Geralt returns his smile with a soft curl of his lips. “What do you want to know?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“How did you become a witcher? You said there were schools, right?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“There were,” Geralt says. “I’m School of the Wolf.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Geralt talks and Jaskier listens. Jaskier gets the sense that Geralt isn’t used to talking this much; it seems to take effort for him to put his thoughts into words. Every time he looks up and finds Jaskier listening to him with rapt attention, he seems surprised. Geralt tells him about training to become a witcher, about the excruciating Trials, about his years on the Path. He talks about how monsters and magic waned once the Continent began to industrialize and were forgotten as myth. He talks about how few witchers there are left, and even fewer sorceresses. He talks about what it’s been like to see the world change around him over and over again, while he remains the same.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Shifts switch at the diner. The sun rises. Jaskier orders an omelet and Geralt another plate of eggs, bacon, and toast. As he eats his second breakfast and listens to Geralt talk about getting stuck in Nilfgaard during the Fourth Nilfgaardian War, he realizes that he’s forgotten to be afraid of the other man. He no longer tenses whenever Geralt moves. He knows for a fact that Geralt is dangerous— the witcher described some of the mutations that came with the Trials— but somehow, that knowledge has lessened his trepidation. Because now he knows for sure that if Geralt wanted to hurt him, Jaskier would already be dead.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It’s only when the diner begins filling with the breakfast rush that Geralt’s story peters out. He looks around with a look of faint surprise, like he didn’t realize how long they’ve been here, and says, “I should get going.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Despite his own exhaustion, Jaskier can’t help but be a little disappointed. “Well, you know where to find me.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Geralt’s lips twitch. “I do.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>They pay for breakfast— or, Jaskier insists on paying, since Geralt saved his life and it feels like the least he can do— and head out into the parking lot.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Take care of yourself, Jaskier,” Geralt says before they part ways.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I always do.” Jaskier shoots a flirty smile over his shoulder. “And next time, I want to hear more stories.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Geralt lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “There’s not much else to tell.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I don’t think that’s true.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The entire drive home, Jaskier has a little smile on his face. As he’s climbing the four flights of stairs to his apartment— the elevator has been broken for years— a memory comes back to him.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>Being cradled against a warm, strong chest in a bridal carry, feeling a slow, steady heartbeat against his cheek as he’s carried up the steps. A voice murmuring, “You’re okay, Jaskier. You’re safe. I promise.”</em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>When Jaskier falls asleep, that’s what he dreams of.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>***</em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After Geralt’s big revelation, he and Jaskier get closer.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Jaskier, if you don’t stop hovering, mine won’t be the only throat ripped out,” Priscilla tells him sternly.</p><p>“The doctors say you should be resting, Pris.”</p><p>“They only said that because they don’t know what else to say.”</p><p>Jaskier looks helplessly at Shani, who shrugs in a way that conveys her inability to control her girlfriend and her unwillingness to risk her own life by trying.</p><p>It’s only Priscilla’s second day home from the hospital— the doctors kept her there for nearly a week, more to figure out why the fuck she suddenly doesn’t have a hole in her throat than out of any concern about her health. Priscilla has made a seemingly full recovery. So long as she doesn’t strain herself, her voice sounds perfectly normal. The only sign that anything is amiss is the long, pale scar on her throat, which she’s already talking about covering up with a tattoo.</p><p>Now if only she would sit the fuck down and take it easy.</p><p>“You’re not ready to play a gig,” he tells her as she breezes around the apartment, looking as fresh and upbeat as if she just spent a week in a spa, not a hospital. “A week ago, they were saying you would never sing again.”</p><p>She sings a high note in defiance. “And now look at me! And it’s not like it’s a big deal. It’s just at the Hole.”</p><p>The Hole in the Wall is the shittier of the two bars in town, a dumpy little dive bar whose only claim to fame is that it used to be a brothel. But the beer is cheap, so students from the local university love it, as do broke twenty-somethings that make minimum wage at both of their part-time jobs. Pre-Valdo, Jaskier used to play there with Priscilla all the time.</p><p>Jaskier looks up at the ceiling in exasperation. “Shani, tell her she shouldn’t be playing a gig right now.”</p><p>“I have. Several times.”</p><p>“I promise, I’ll stick to all my easiest songs,” Priscilla looks up at Jaskier with a glint in her eye. “Or, I suppose I could find another singer who’s already familiar with all our songs and could take the lead when my voice gets tired.”</p><p>Jaskier grimaces. “No.”</p><p>“Oh, come on, Jask.”</p><p>“I keep telling you, I’m not—”</p><p>“I did almost die last week.” Priscilla gives him a long, sad look. Fuck, he’s never been able to resist her sad looks.</p><p>“Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “But only to stop you from shredding your vocal cords.”</p><p>***</p><p>When Geralt’s van pulls up in front of the E-Z-Go that night, Jaskier hurries to put on a fresh pot of coffee, even though the old pot was still half-full. “Coffee’s just brewing,” he tells Geralt as the other man steps inside. “Guess you’ll have to stay a while.”</p><p>The corners of Geralt’s eyes crinkle. “Guess I will. How’s Priscilla?”</p><p>“As ornery as ever,” Jaskier says. “Ready to play a gig this weekend, despite everyone’s advice. She says her voice is fine.”</p><p>“Yennefer and Triss are very good at what they do.”</p><p>“I can tell.” Jaskier is very aware of Geralt’s presence as the witcher comes to stand with him by the coffee pot. It’s not the prey animal fear he was filled with before whenever Geralt got too close. No, now he’s back to being hyperaware of the breadth of Geralt’s shoulders, the strength of his thighs, the swell of his ass. He can feel the warmth of the other man’s body next to him and it’s very, very tempting to turn towards him.</p><p>He busies himself straightening the sweeteners, because the last thing he needs is the humiliation of unthinkingly reaching for Geralt— stroking his hands through that long white hair, running a finger over the sharpness of his jaw, grabbing a handful of his—</p><p>“Jaskier?”</p><p>“Hm?” Jaskier looks up and finds Geralt watching him with amusement.</p><p>“You’re distracted.” Geralt nods towards Jaskier’s hand and Jaskier looks down to see that he was about to dump a handful of perfectly good sweeteners in the garbage can.</p><p>“Ah. I suppose I am.” Jaskier clears his throat. “So, the katakan? Any leads?”</p><p>Because there’s nothing better for killing burgeoning horniness than thinking about the bloodsucking beast that nearly slaughtered his best friend.</p><p>“No,” Geralt says. “There haven’t been any attacks since Priscilla. No sign of the thing. It may have moved on to find a safer hunting ground.”</p><p>“You think so?” That fills Jaskier with a complicated mix of emotions. Because on one hand, it would be nice not to have a creature preying on the locals. On the other hand, if the katakan has moved on, then Geralt will follow. And that thought leaves Jaskier unbearably sad.</p><p>“Or it could just be lying low, hoping that I’ll think it’s moved on and leave. Hard to say.” The coffee finishes brewing and Geralt pours himself a cup. “The thing about katakans is that they’re smart. They’re not bruxae or fleders, who are ruled by their bloodlust. There are katakans who go their entire lives without taking a life.”</p><p>“So this one chooses to be a serial killer.” Jaskier shudders. “Wonderful.”</p><p>“That’s what’s strange about this one,” Geralt murmurs. “It’s unusual for a katakan to draw this much attention to itself. The lower types of vampires can’t help it. But a katakan? It could blend in if it really wanted to. They’re indistinguishable from humans most of the time.”</p><p>“You think it wanted to draw attention to itself?”</p><p>“Maybe. Or maybe it’s been alive for too long and it got careless.” Geralt eyes  him speculatively. “You should have my number.”</p><p>Jaskier nearly drops the pitcher of cream in his hand. “What?” he squeaks.</p><p>“So you can reach me, just in case,” Geralt says. “If anything happens, if you ever think you’re in danger, call me and I’ll be here.”</p><p>It’s been a long time since Jaskier has had someone who wasn’t Priscilla or Shani that he could call when he needed something. He swallows back the sudden lump in his throat and hands Geralt his phone so the other man can program his number in. Geralt types like Jaskier’s grandma, with slow deliberation as he puts in the digits. It’s oddly adorable.</p><p>When Geralt hands Jaskier his phone back, Jaskier grins at him. “I hope you realize that you’re getting a phone call next time there’s a really ugly bug in my apartment.”</p><p>“Call me if you’re in <em>actual</em> danger.”</p><p>“Centipedes can be plenty dangerous.”</p><p>“Giant ones, yes.”</p><p>“There are <em>giant</em> ones?” Jaskier squawks.</p><p>Geralt doesn’t even try to hide his amusement, the bastard. “Not very many anymore. Haven’t seen one in a decade.”</p><p>“A decade isn’t nearly long enough, Geralt.”</p><p>“Hm. They mostly lurk in apartment buildings in southern Redania.”</p><p>In retaliation, Jaskier hurls a sugar packet at him. Geralt catches it deftly out of the air. Jaskier reaches for another and Geralt catches his wrist, his grip gentle. Jaskier sucks in a breath.</p><p>“Careful,” Geralt murmurs. “Sugar attracts bugs.”</p><p>Jaskier can barely focus on anything but the feeling of Geralt’s callused fingertips on his skin. He swallows and says, “I hope you realize that when I have nightmares about giant bugs breaking into my apartment and eating me, I’m calling you.”</p><p>“You think I’d come save you?”</p><p>“Wouldn’t you?” Jaskier’s tongue darts nervously over his lower lip. Geralt’s gaze drops to his mouth, then snaps back to his eyes.</p><p>Releasing Jaskier’s wrist, the witcher steps back. “I should get going.”</p><p>Jaskier can still feel the warmth from his touch. “Stay safe out there, Geralt.”</p><p>***</p><p>He texts Geralt the next morning. <em>Thought you should have my number too. Just in case you need a valiant rescue from a bad cup of coffee.</em> He does a lot of waffling about whether to add a winky face and decides against it</p><p>He doesn’t get an answer for over an hour and all he gets in reply is, <em>Ok.</em> Which is… discouraging. Jaskier wonders if he imagined the heat in Geralt’s eyes the night before.</p><p>Later that day, he’s on break at his shift at the coffee shop when he checks his phone to find another text message from Geralt. It’s a picture of a bagel. It has a bite taken out of it and a stingy layer of cream cheese. There’s no commentary.</p><p><em>Nice bagel,</em> Jaskier replies. <em>Is there a reason you’re sending me a picture of a bagel?</em></p><p>This time, the reply comes right away. <em>Ciri and her friends always send each other pictures of their food.</em></p><p>The noise Jaskier makes is somewhere between a squeak and a coo. <em>Typically, when people send each other pictures of their food, they try to make them aesthetically pleasing.</em></p><p>
  <em>What’s not aesthetically pleasing about this bagel?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The lack of cream cheese, for one. You should ask for your money back.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t like a lot of cream cheese. I want to be able to taste the bagel.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What kind of monster doesn’t like cream cheese?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What kind of monster ruins a perfectly good bagel with globs of cream cheese?</em>
</p><p>Jaskier has no answer to that, but he goes back to work with a smile on his face, because Geralt just implied that they’re friends.</p><p>***</p><p><em>What do you do when you’re not out hunting monsters?</em> Jaskier texts Geralt the next day.</p><p>
  <em>Looking for monsters to hunt.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Come on, you must have a hobby.</em>
</p><p>There’s a long pause before the next message. <em>I used to like horses.</em></p><p>
  <em>Did you have one?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I had lots. They were all named Roach.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Like your license plate?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Geralt, is your car named Roach?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes.</em>
</p><p>Jaskier has to put his phone down for a minute. Honestly, badass monster hunters shouldn’t be adorable. It isn’t fair. When he picks his phone back up, he sees that Geralt has texted him again:</p><p>
  <em>Horses were better to talk to than cars.</em>
</p><p>Jaskier’s amusement is suddenly replaced by sadness, because now he’s picturing Geralt traveling the Continent with nothing but his horse for company. And now he doesn’t even have that.</p><p><em>Well, I’m not a horse,</em> he tells Geralt. <em>But you can always talk to me.</em></p><p>
  <em>I know.</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>Jaskier has been able to distract himself from his upcoming show over the last few days, assisted by all his texting with Geralt. After all, flirting and talking about bagels and horses with a gorgeous, near-immortal being is way more interesting than petty concerns like an upcoming gig. But on the morning of the show, he wakes up in a cold sweat. This is the first time he’s going to perform in front of an audience in… a long fucking time. Seven years, maybe? Eight? What if he gets up there and realizes that he’s forgotten how to play guitar, or he forgets the words to the song? What if he gets booed off the stage? What if…</p><p>He rolls over and grabs his phone.</p><p><em>Do you like music?</em> he asks Geralt.</p><p>
  <em>Depends on the music.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Do you like good music?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Define good.</em>
</p><p>Jaskier huffs a laugh. <em>I’m playing a gig at a bar called Hole in the Wall tonight at 8. Want to come watch?</em></p><p>There’s such a long pause that he doesn’t think Geralt is going to answer. The three dots appear, then vanish, then appear again. Jaskier stares at the screen, hardly daring to breathe.</p><p>And then, finally, the words pop up. <em>I’ll be there.</em></p><p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Geralt attends Jaskier’s first gig in years.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As Jaskier’s gig with Priscilla and her band approaches, he tells himself that the constant flutter of nerves in the pit of his gut is just stage fright. After all, it’s been years since he last sang in front of an actual audience. He looks around the bar, taking in the decent-sized crowd. The Hole in the Wall may be a dive, but it’s a popular one, and the crowd is a mixture of university students and townies here to guzzle cheap beer, eat stringy hot wings, and listen to music. Many of the regulars know Priscilla and come up to offer her their well-wishes for her continued recovery.</p>
<p>“You okay, Jask?” Essi asks as Jaskier plays some warm-up notes. “You look a little green over there.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’m great.” He flashes her what he hopes is a smile full of confidence. “This isn’t my first gig.”</p>
<p>Right before Valdo ran away with all his money, Jaskier went on his first and only tour. Sure, he was opening for another singer, but playing those few songs in front of sold-out crowds had been intoxicating. Still, Jaskier always had a soft spot for low-key gigs in run-down little bars like this. A shiver of excitement goes through him. Most of these people probably have no idea who he is; even if they do know his one or two songs that became popular, he bears little resemblance to the skinny twenty year-old who sang them.</p>
<p>As they get ready to start, Jaskier scans the room one last time, but doesn’t catch sight of the head of white hair that he wants to see so badly. He feels his heart sink a little, but tries not to take it personally. There’s a katakan on the loose; Geralt surely has more important things to do than to watch Jaskier sing.</p>
<p>“You ready for this?” Priscilla asks Jaskier, her face flushed with excitement, like it always is before a show.</p>
<p>Jaskier smiles, buoyed by her energy. “I’m ready.”</p>
<p>Priscilla’s voice is as high and sweet as ever, carrying through the bar. People stop to listen, like they always do when she sings. There’s no sign of the attack only two weeks before. Jaskier loses himself in the show, playing his guitar and crooning along with Priscilla. He almost forgets about Geralt, until the front door opens and the witcher strides in. By some miracle, Jaskier manages not to miss a note. Geralt looks the same as ever, in the same jacket and tight jeans, but something about seeing him here makes him extra magnetic.</p>
<p>Geralt’s eyes meet Jaskier’s and he nods in greeting. Jaskier shoots him a wink and Geralt’s lips curl into a smile as he goes to get himself a drink from the bar. More than one head turns as he passes. Jaskier finds himself staring.</p>
<p>He’s very aware of Geralt’s eyes on him throughout the show. Geralt sits at a table in the corner, nursing a bottle of beer and watching the performance. A couple of hopeful-looking young women make their way over to his table throughout the evening, but all leave disappointed. Jaskier tries not to feel too smug about that.</p>
<p>When they get halfway through their set, they take a break and Jaskier makes his way over to Geralt’s table, moving slowly so as not to look too eager. He finds that Geralt’s already gotten him a beer, which the witcher slides towards him.</p>
<p>Jaskier drops into the chair across from Geralt. He’s sweaty, disheveled, and grinning like a fool. “You just had to find the shadowiest corner of the bar, didn’t you? Prime brooding location?”</p>
<p>“I can see the stage and both exits from here,” Geralt says.</p>
<p>“Planning on making a quick escape?” Jaskier teases. “Should I take that personally?”</p>
<p>“No,” Geralt says with a snort. “You’re good. So is Priscilla.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t she?” Jaskier looks proudly at his friend, who’s in the middle of an animated conversation with Essi and Sven. “She could be a star, if she wanted to be, but she’s happy with these small-time gigs.”</p>
<p>“And you’re not?”</p>
<p>Jaskier shrugs. “I wasn’t when I was younger, but I was kind of an idiot back then. I forgot how fun this was. I mean, what else could I want? Cheap beer, an extremely attractive audience—”</p>
<p>Geralt snorts.</p>
<p>“I mean, this place is great, right?” Jaskier looks around. “Well, it’s shit, but in a great way. It used to be a brothel.”</p>
<p>“No, it didn’t.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“The brothel used to be about five hundred feet that way.” Geralt points out the window. “No, the outhouse behind the brothel used to stand here.”</p>
<p>Jaskier grins delightedly. “So, this place is a literal shithole?”</p>
<p>“Used to be.”</p>
<p>Jaskier guffaws. “And were you a frequent customer of this brothel?”</p>
<p>“Hm.”</p>
<p>“Is that a yes?”</p>
<p>Geralt looks almost sheepish. “Most brothels would either charge witchers double or turn us away. But there was a girl who worked here who always seemed to enjoy my company. Either that, or she was a good actress.”</p>
<p>“No, I’m sure she enjoyed your company.” Jaskier can’t imagine anyone <em>not</em> liking Geralt.</p>
<p>Geralt looks sad for a moment and Jaskier remembers that the woman who was kind to Geralt has probably been dead for eight hundred years. He seems to shake himself out of it. “Can’t believe this is an actual town now. Used to just be a collection of buildings with no name, the kind of place travelers would stop but no one wanted to stay.”</p>
<p>“It’s not much, but it’s home,” Jaskier says. He’s never given a shit about the history of this town, but now he wants to know everything. How often did Geralt stop here? Why did he stop here? Was it just for the brothel, or because there were a lot of monsters around?</p>
<p>Okay, maybe he’s more interested in hearing about Geralt than the town.</p>
<p>“Jaskier!” Priscilla calls across the bar.</p>
<p>“Duty calls.” Jaskier takes another sip of his beer and stands up. “Will you still be here when I’m done?”</p>
<p>Geralt nods. “Of course.”</p>
<p>The rest of the set goes swimmingly, with the crowd getting more boisterous as the evening progresses. When they’ve sung two encores and their performance finally draws to a close, Priscilla turns to Jaskier and says, “So, I take it the man you’ve been making eyes at all night is the guy from the E-Z-Go?”</p>
<p>Jaskier grins. “He sure is.”</p>
<p>“Well, luckily for you, I’m saying at Shani’s tonight. The apartment’s all yours.”</p>
<p>Jaskier feels his face turn hot and is glad for the low lighting. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”</p>
<p>“I’m not implying anything. I’m <em>saying</em> you should go climb that like a tree and stop all the pining.”</p>
<p>Jaskier gives her an appalled look. “Pining?”</p>
<p>“Oh, please. It’s been months since he first stopped by the E-Z-Go.”</p>
<p>“You’re one to talk! How long did you and Shani pine over each other before you finally got together? Seven years? Eight years?”</p>
<p>“Don’t repeat my mistakes, Jask.” Priscilla shrugs. “Go get your man. From the way he’s looking at you, he’s more than happy to be gotten.”</p>
<p>“You’re horrible.” Jaskier bends over to kiss her on the forehead. “And thank you, you were right about singing again. I needed this.”</p>
<p>“I know.” She reaches up to ruffle his forehead. “You deserve to be happy, Jask. Now go. If I think you’re chickening out, I will come over there and play wingwoman.”</p>
<p>“Please don’t.” Priscilla’s attempts to play wingwoman usually end in flames.</p>
<p>She grins wickedly at him and with a sigh, he hoists his guitar case over his shoulder and crosses the bar to Geralt. The witcher watches him approach with an inscrutable expression.</p>
<p>“Is now a good time to remind you that being a witcher gives me advanced hearing?” Geralt asks.</p>
<p>Jaskier freezes halfway through sitting down. “Oh.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s lips twitch. “Oh.”</p>
<p>“So you heard that?”</p>
<p>Geralt nods.</p>
<p>Jaskier blinks. “Any way I could convince you that we were talking about another white-haired man who comes into the E-Z-Go?”</p>
<p>“Alan?”</p>
<p>Despite his mortification, Jaskier laughs. “Geralt, don’t take this the wrong way, but you are a very good-looking man. And I have eyes.”</p>
<p>“Nice ones too,” Geralt mutters.</p>
<p>Jaskier stares at him, gobsmacked.</p>
<p>Geralt shrugs. “Ciri told me I should say nice things to you.”</p>
<p>“Did she, now? Your twelve year old gives you tips on how to flirt?”</p>
<p>“She’s terrifyingly like her mother.”</p>
<p>Jaskier laughs. “So, you like my eyes, huh?”</p>
<p>“They’re, uh, blue.”</p>
<p>“Are they now?”</p>
<p>Geralt stares down at the table, like he’s trying to figure out what to say next. Jaskier has the creeping suspicion that he may have pushed the other man too far. Before he can figure out what to say to put Geralt at ease again, Priscilla plops down into the chair between them.</p>
<p>“Hi!” She holds out her hand to Geralt. “You must be the white haired sex god from the E-Z-Go. I’m Priscilla.”</p>
<p>And this is how Jaskier dies.</p>
<p>Geralt looks between Jaskier and Priscilla, then holds out his hand to shake. “That’s me.”</p>
<p>Priscilla pumps his hand enthusiastically. “Do you come here often? You look so familiar.”</p>
<p>“Occasionally.”</p>
<p>“Huh.” Priscilla tilts her head to the side, frowning at him like she’s trying to place him. “Well, Jaskier has told me a lot about you.”</p>
<p>“Has he?” Geralt arches an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“He has,” Priscilla says. “Are you a serial killer, Geralt?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“A hitman?”</p>
<p>“Also no.”</p>
<p>“Have a secret spouse?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Criminal record?”</p>
<p>“Depends on which kingdom you’re talking about.”</p>
<p>“This one?”</p>
<p>“Then no. I don’t think.”</p>
<p>Priscilla laughs. “Excellent. Jaskier, I officially give you my blessing.”</p>
<p>“I’m dumping all your fancy conditioner in the toilet,” he tells her.</p>
<p>“You steal it all the time, so I don’t see a difference.” She pats him on the head. “Have fun, kids!”</p>
<p>She flounces away and Geralt stares after her, looking a little dumbstruck.</p>
<p>Jaskier smiles sheepishly. “She’s protective.”</p>
<p>“I can see that.”</p>
<p>“But I learned pretty early on in our friendship that I should always listen to her.”</p>
<p>“Well, she seems to think you should take me home.” There’s nothing inscrutable about Geralt’s expression right now; he’s looking at Jaskier with open want. It sends a shiver up Jaskier’s spine.</p>
<p>Jaskier licks his lips. “That she does.”</p>
<p>“Hm.”</p>
<p>“Geralt, would you like to come home with me?” Jaskier’s voice comes out a little squeakier than he would like.</p>
<p>“I would.” Geralt’s hand finds Jaskier’s knee under the table. That tiny bit of contact is enough to send heat coursing through Jaskier’s body.</p>
<p>Melitele’s sweet tits, he’s going to die.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Jaskier thanks every god in the sky for Priscilla’s post-hospital spree of productivity, because their apartment is the cleanest it’s been since they moved in. He tries to see it through Geralt’s eyes as the witcher looks around the apartment. The two-bedroom that Jaskier and Priscilla share is small, but nice, cluttered with the personal effects they’ve accumulated over half a decade of living together. Jaskier sees Geralt pause on a framed picture of Priscilla, Shani, and Jaskier together at a costume party their sophomore year of college, all dressed in 80s style clothing with bright clothing, big hair, and sparkly makeup.</p>
<p>“Haven’t seen anyone dressed like that in a long time,” Geralt says.</p>
<p>Jaskier looks at his all-black outfit. “I take it you weren’t a big fan of 80’s fashion?”</p>
<p>“Hm. The music was shit too.”</p>
<p>“Oh, my friend, that’s a debate we’re going to need to have another time.”</p>
<p>Geralt turns to face him. “Not right now?”</p>
<p>“No, I’m hoping we’ll be otherwise occupied shortly.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s lips curl into an almost predatory smile and he crosses the space between them, stopping just short of touching Jaskier. “What do you want?”</p>
<p>Jaskier has always had a way of words, but he doesn’t see a need to be poetic right now. “You.”</p>
<p>“Well, here I am.”</p>
<p>Jaskier reaches out and takes his hands. “Here you are.”</p>
<p>When Geralt leans forward and captures his mouth in his, Jaskier leans into the kiss without hesitation. Geralt’s lips are soft, warm, and surprisingly gentle as they move over Jaskier’s. Geralt pulls Jaskier against him and Jaskier finds himself pressed chest-to-chest with the witcher. He releases Geralt’s hands to slide his own hands up Geralt’s stomach and chest and over his shoulders. He’s spent so long looking at Geralt, marveling at the perfection of him, and now he finally gets to touch. It’s almost too much.</p>
<p>Geralt pulls away, breathing heavily, and reaches up to cup Jaskier’s face in his hands. “I should tell you, I’m shit at this kind of thing.”</p>
<p>“Gods, I really hope not.” Jaskier’s eyes flicker downwards to the considerable swell in the front of Geralt’s pants.</p>
<p>Geralt’s lips twitch. “No, not that. But I’m not good at being with someone. Never have been.”</p>
<p>“Geralt—”</p>
<p>“After the katakan is taken care of, I’m going to have to leave, Jaskier. I can’t stay in one place for too long. I always end up drawing attention to myself.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Jaskier whispers.</p>
<p>“I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think it’s possible for you to disappoint me,” Jaskier says, even though he’s fully aware of the fact that it’s going to crush him when Geralt moves on. But that’s a problem for future Jaskier. Right now, with Geralt in his arms, it’s hard to worry about anything but the other man’s lips and his hands on him.</p>
<p>“I just want tonight,” he tells Geralt. “Nothing more, nothing less.”</p>
<p>Geralt smiles, though his eyes still look a little sad. “You can have tonight, then.”</p>
<p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Just smut</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is pure gratuitous smut. If that's not your thing, you can skip ahead to Chapter 10 without missing out on any important plot points.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier is a grown ass man, closer to thirty that he cares to admit. He has fucked a wide variety of people, and he likes to think that he’s shown all of them— and if not all, then at least <em>most</em> of them— a damn good time. But as he stands in front of Geralt, marveling at the man in front of him, it’s like everything he knows about how to give and receive pleasure has vacated his brain. He feels like he’s eighteen again, awkward and unsure in his dorm room in Oxenfurt.</p>
<p>“So,” he says.</p>
<p>Geralt tilts his head to the side, regarding Jaskier with those golden eyes. “So.”</p>
<p>Before Jaskier can overthink things, Geralt leans down and kisses him. This kiss is more insistent than their first, with Geralt exploring Jaskier’s mouth while his hands slide down to grasp his hips. Jaskier leans into the kiss, gasping when Geralt nips at his lower lip. Geralt makes a pleased noise and before Jaskier knows it, he’s being lifted into the air. With a startled laugh, Jaskier wraps his legs around Geralt’s waist and clings onto the witcher.</p>
<p>“Trying to impress me with that witcher strength?” he teases.</p>
<p>“Is it working?” Geralt arches an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“Depends.” Jaskier kisses along the side of his neck, feeling the witcher’s slow, steady pulse under his lips. He wonders how fast he can get that heart to beat. “What else are you planning to do with it?”</p>
<p>With almost embarrassing ease, Geralt carries Jaskier across the living room and into Jaskier’s bedroom. Jaskier isn’t exactly a small man, but it’s like he weighs nothing to the witcher. Geralt gently deposits him on the bed and bends to kiss him, his fingers finding the buttons of Jaskier’s shirt. Jaskier’s hands join his and together, they have his shirt off in record time. Jaskier peels his undershirt off, tossing it aside without ceremony, and looks up at Geralt. The witcher is studying him hungrily, eyes roving over Jaskier.</p>
<p>Jaskier sucks in a breath when Geralt reaches out to card his fingers through his chest hair. He always used to be self-conscious about his abundance of body hair, but the witcher doesn’t seem to mind. Geralt’s thumb brushes over Jaskier’s nipple and Jaskier arches into the touch. Geralt hums and kisses his way down Jaskier’s neck and chest, capturing his nipple in his mouth. Jaskier squirms under his ministrations, burying his fingers in Geralt’s hair and holding on for dear life as Geralt kisses and licks at the sensitive skin.</p>
<p>When Geralt lifts his head, eyes meeting Jaskier’s, he looks unbearably smug, and for good reason. Jaskier feels like he’s one kiss away from coming in his jeans, and neither of them even have their fucking pants off yet.</p>
<p>“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Jaskier manages to say.</p>
<p>“Hm. Could say the same thing about you.”</p>
<p>“You first.”</p>
<p>“If you insist.” Geralt peels his shirt off, then his jeans, with businesslike efficiency, but it’s as sexy as any striptease, because the witcher is a fucking vision. Jaskier is very aware that he’s gaping like a goldfish, but he can’t stop. Geralt is lovely— all rippling muscles, broad shoulders, and strong thighs. Jaskier can see the evidence of battles old and new scattered across him, but they only enhance his beauty.</p>
<p>“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier says hoarsely.</p>
<p>“Your turn.” Geralt nods towards Jaskier’s pants.</p>
<p>Jaskier shimmies out of his jeans clumsily, unable to take his eyes off of Geralt. The witcher hums in satisfaction when Jaskier’s cock springs free. Jaskier holds his breath as Geralt closes the space between them, stroking a hand down Jaskier’s torso. When Geralt’s fingers wrap around Jaskier’s cock, Jaskier can’t suppress the whining noise he makes. Seeing Geralt’s large, strong fingers wrapped around his length may be one of the sexiest things he’s ever seen.</p>
<p>Geralt strokes a thumb over the head of Jaskier’s cock. “Fuck me.”</p>
<p>Jaskier’s eyes go wide. He should know by now not to assume what people prefer based on outward appearances, but he was sure that Geralt would prefer it the other way around. “I would love to,” he says, eyeing the heavy, flushed cock hanging between Geralt’s legs. “Though if you’re amenable, I would very much like to have you inside of me later.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s lips quirk. “We have all night. Plenty of time for both of us to take a turn.”</p>
<p>Jaskier’s cock twitches at the thought. “Fuck, okay. Condoms and lube are in the top drawer of the nightstand.”</p>
<p>“I’m a witcher. Can’t give you any diseases. Can’t get them either.”</p>
<p>“Well, that’s convenient. I’m okay forgoing the condoms then, if you are.”</p>
<p>Geralt nods and reaches to get the bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer, before turning back to Jaskier with laser focus. Jaskier’s breath hitches as Geralt kisses his way down Jaskier’s body. “Oh, good, excellent, that’s— oh, Melitele.”</p>
<p>Geralt licks a stripe up Jaskier’s shaft before taking the head of his cock in his mouth and swirling his tongue around. Jaskier’s thighs tremble as Geralt takes him deeper into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing out as he sucks. Geralt’s hands slide under Jaskier’s ass, lifting his hips up so he can take him deeper.</p>
<p>“Geralt,” Jaskier gasps after only a few moments of this treatment, because he can already feel the heat building in his lower belly and he wants to last long enough to get inside that gorgeous ass. “I’m not going to last if you keep that up.”</p>
<p>Geralt hums around Jaskier’s prick and he groans.</p>
<p>“Geralt,” he whines. “Please, if you want me to last long enough to fuck you, this is not a good way to go about it.”</p>
<p>Regretfully, Geralt releases Jaskier’s cock with a wet <em>pop</em>, looking up at Jaskier with an unbearably smug expression.</p>
<p>Jaskier laughs. “Yes, yes, you’re unbelievably good at that. Now roll over so I can return the favor.”</p>
<p>Geralt complies and Jaskier pounces, covering the witcher’s mouth with his. They kiss for a long, languid moment before Jaskier drags his lips away to press kisses down Geralt’s throat. He lingers for a moment on the witcher’s chest, mouthing at the swell of his pecs and flicking his tongue over Geralt’s nipple. Geralt groans as Jaskier’s mouth travels down his stomach to the V between his hips. Jaskier nuzzles at the soft skin, breathing in the soapy, musky scent of him. When he looks up, he finds Geralt watching him, his pupils so wide that the golden irises are nearly invisible.</p>
<p>Jaskier settles between Geralt’s thighs, smoothing his hands over them, feeling the heft of the firm muscle and soft skin. He could spend hours between these thighs, he decides, and enjoy every second of it. He presses gentle kisses to Geralt’s shaft, teasing with his tongue until Geralt’s moans take on a desperate edge and his thighs are trembling beautifully. Geralt’s hips stutter in his effort not to thrust as Jaskier takes his cock in his mouth inch by lovely inch.</p>
<p>Jaskier has sucked a lot of cocks, and Geralt’s is a joy to have in his mouth. Not just because it’s a beautiful cock belonging to a beautiful man, but because Geralt is so responsive. His moans and gasps of Jaskier’s name are music to Jaskier’s ears. And the way he touches Jaskier, carding his fingers through his hair, cupping his face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over Jaskier’s cheekbones, is all so fucking tender that Jaskier feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. It’s not fair for Geralt to be so good-looking and so sweet.</p>
<p>He holds out his hand and Geralt squeezes some lube onto his fingers. The thighs under Jaskier’s hands tremble in anticipation as Geralt cants his hips up to grant Jaskier better access to his ass. Jaskier slides a finger along Geralt’s crease, enjoying the shiver of longing such a simple movement elicits from the witcher. He finds Geralt’s hole and presses the tip of one finger in. Geralt gasps his name and Jaskier slowly slides his finger the rest of the way in.</p>
<p>Geralt is tight and hot, but opens up beautifully for Jaskier. Jaskier works him open slowly, sliding in a second finger when Geralt asks him to. Geralt makes a breathy noise as Jaskier begins to scissor his fingers and when Jaskier glances up, he sees that the witcher has his head thrown back, his grip white-knuckled on the sheets. It’s the best thing Jaskier has ever seen.</p>
<p>“Gonna come,” Geralt says and Jaskier takes him deeper in his mouth, sucking harder. Geralt comes down his throat, hot and salty, and Jaskier swallows every drop before peppering his trembling thighs with kisses.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Geralt breathes.</p>
<p>“Soon, dear heart.” Jaskier isn’t sure where the pet name comes from, but Geralt doesn’t protest, just looks at him with heavy-lidded eyes. His hands are still gently cupping Jaskier’s face, his fingers stroking over Jaskier’s skin like he’s something precious.</p>
<p>When Geralt can take three of Jaskier’s fingers with little resistance, Jaskier looks up and asks, “How do you want me?”</p>
<p>Next thing he knows, he’s flat on his back on the bed with Geralt straddling his hips. Seeming to realize what he just did, Geralt starts to draw back, looking mortified, but Jaskier grabs his arms to keep him in place.</p>
<p>“I didn’t realize it was possible for me to get more turned on.” He presses a kiss to Geralt’s throat. The witcher’s heart is definitely beating faster than it was earlier, he notices smugly. “Somehow, you managed.’</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Geralt murmurs. “Got carried away.”</p>
<p>“Get carried away all you want.” Jaskier kisses him again. Gods, but he wants to kiss every inch of Geralt’s body by the end of the night. “I take it you want to ride me?”</p>
<p>Geralt’s answering growl is all the confirmation Jaskier needs.</p>
<p>Jaskier hurriedly slicks up his cock. He’s barely done before Geralt is lining himself up. When Geralt starts to sink down onto him, they both moan. Geralt feels even better than Jaskier expected, tight and hot around him. As Geralt lowers himself onto Jaskier’s, inch by inch, Jaskier has to fight the urge to thrust. He grips Geralt’s hips, praying that he won’t come instantly and shame himself forever, until he bottoms out.</p>
<p>“Alright?” he manages to ask.</p>
<p>Geralt nods, eyes fluttering with pleasure, then begins to roll his hips. Jaskier matches his movements, fingers digging harder into Geralt’s hips as he watches the place where their bodies meet. The sight of Geralt’s massive thighs straddling him, each the width of Jaskier’s waist, is incredibly arousing. Geralt could crush him with those thighs, or with the arms caging in Jaskier’s head, but he won’t. Geralt lowers his head to kiss the side of Jaskier’s throat and Jaskier tilts his chin back to grant him better access, moaning as Geralt sucks a bruise into the tender skin under his ear.</p>
<p>“Jaskier,” Geralt murmurs in between kisses. “Fuck, you’re incredible. So fucking good.”</p>
<p>Suddenly, the tenderness becomes unbearable. If this might be the one night he has with Geralt, Jaskier wants to be able to walk away from it without being crushed. His breath hitches in his throat and whispers, “Harder.”</p>
<p>Geralt complies instantly, snapping his hips harder and angling them so that Jaskier sinks deeper into him. Jaskier buries his face into Geralt’s chest, hanging on for dear life as he reaches his peak. As he shudders with the aftershocks of his orgasm, Geralt rolls off of him, collapsing onto the bed next to him.</p>
<p>Jaskier and Geralt look at each other for a long moment. “Fuck,” Jaskier says.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Geralt agrees.</p>
<p>When Geralt holds out an arm to Jaskier and he moves closer, tucking his head against Geralt’s shoulder and letting himself be held. After a long moment of silence, Jaskier registers the fact that they’re both sweaty, sticky messes. “We should probably take a shower,”  he murmurs.</p>
<p>Geralt presses a kiss against his hair. “In a bit. Not ready to let you go yet.”</p>
<p>Jaskier smiles against his skin. “You have to let me go eventually.”</p>
<p>“Hm. We’ll see.”</p>
<p>“If you won’t let me go, are you going to come with me to the E-Z-Go like this?”</p>
<p>“Depends on if there’s coffee.”</p>
<p>Jaskier laughs and kisses him.</p>
<p>They fall asleep like that, wrapped up in each other’s arms. Later, they wake up to take a shower and Geralt fucks Jaskier, so slowly and sweetly that Jaskier feels like he’s going to dissolve into a puddle. Afterwards, when they’re back in bed, their skin warmed from the shower, both smelling like Jaskier’s soap, Jaskier nestles into Geralt’s arms, feeling warm and safe and filled with the bone-deep contentment of having just been fucked six ways til Sunday.</p>
<p>He hopes he has more than tonight, he thinks as Geralt’s breathing goes slow and even in his ear, but it’s not going to matter in the end. No matter how many nights he has with Geralt, it’s never going to be enough.</p>
<p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the aftermath of their night together, things get complicated.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So, <em>every</em> horse you ever had was named Roach?”</p>
<p>Geralt makes a noise that seems to indicate <em>yes,</em> trailing kisses over Jaskier’s collarbone to his shoulder. He seems to be more interested in kissing and touching Jaskier than discussing horses. In fact, he hasn’t stopped touching Jaskier since the night before; even in their sleep, he held Jaskier close. It’s doing things to Jaskier’s heart.</p>
<p>“How did you keep them straight?” Jaskier asks, closing his eyes as Geralt nuzzles at the skin under his ear. </p>
<p>“Didn’t need to. Only ever had one at a time.”</p>
<p>“But didn’t you ever look at a horse and think, ‘you know what, she looks like a Marigold?’”</p>
<p>“I never would have called a horse Marigold.”</p>
<p>“Your loss. That’s a lovely name for a— oh.” Jaskier loses his train of thought as Geralt begins kissing what is sure to be a fantastic hickey onto the side of his neck.</p>
<p>After lavishing Jaskier’s skin with attention for a long, blissful moment, Geralt raises his head and says, “They were all chestnut mares with white stars on their nose. All Roaches. Each one more ornery than the last.”</p>
<p>He sounds so wistful that it hurts Jaskier’s heart a little. “And so you named your van Roach too?”</p>
<p>Geralt nods. “And both the cars I had before that.”</p>
<p>“I bet you looked dashing on horseback. All that riding probably did marvelous things to your thighs.” Jaskier looks downward. “Not that you need any help in that regard.”</p>
<p>“Hm. I miss horses.  They were easier to talk to on the road. Had more personality than cars.” Geralt gives Jaskier a sidelong glance, eyes sparking with mischief. “Though I still find myself surrounded by ornery creatures.”</p>
<p>Jaskier’s jaw drops. “Did you just compare me to a horse, Geralt? Because if so, I am offended and appalled and we are never—”</p>
<p>Geralt kisses Jaskier, pressing his body down against the mattress.</p>
<p>Jaskier laughs against his mouth as Geralt’s hand creeps lower. “I see you’re going for the tried and true method of shutting me— oh, <em>Melitele’s tits.</em>”</p>
<p>Witcher stamina is a beautiful thing.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Jaskier still feels like he’s floating later that night, even when he’s sweeping a bunch of crushed cheese puffs off the floor after an unfortunate incident with an exploding bag of them. Nothing can get rid of the spring in his step or the stupid smile on his face. He keeps replaying the night before in his mind— Geralt’s hands and his mouth and the soft, lust-drunk way he looked at Jaskier.</p>
<p>Jaskier is in so much trouble and he can’t bring himself to even be worried about it because it’s Geralt.</p>
<p>When Alan stops in for his usual coffee and a chat, he says, “You’re in a good mood.”</p>
<p>“It’s a beautiful night.” It is not a beautiful night— it’s pouring buckets outside— but Jaskier won’t let that ruin his optimism.</p>
<p>Alan’s eyes fall on the hickey under Jaskier’s ear, which Jaskier did his best to cover up with some of Priscilla’s makeup, but he couldn’t quite manage it. “Must be someone special to make you smile like that.”</p>
<p>Jaskier’s grin only widens. “He sure is.”</p>
<p>When Jaskier leaves work that night, he finds Roach parked in the parking lot. Geralt rolls down the window as he approaches and says, “Wanted to make sure you got home okay.”</p>
<p>The warm, fuzzy feeling in Jaskier’s chest only grows stronger. “Does this mean you’re coming home with me?”</p>
<p>Geralt looks sheepish. “If you want me to.”</p>
<p>Jaskier leans through Geralt’s car window to kiss him, savoring the warmth of Geralt’s mouth against his and the little hitch in his breath. “So long as you don’t compare me to a horse again.”</p>
<p>“Hm. You didn’t seem to mind last time.”</p>
<p>Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Follow me, you incorrigible man.”</p>
<p>He told Geralt that he could accept it if things between them only lasted for one night, but he’s glad he doesn’t have to.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Jaskier wakes up the next morning to find Geralt already out of bed, sitting at the kitchen table with Priscilla. She’s showing him something on her phone, giggling, and Geralt is smiling indulgently. The witcher looks so comfortable, it’s like this is his thousandth such morning sitting at their beat up old kitchen table, drinking coffee and eating cereal with Priscilla. Jaskier thinks his heart might beat right out of his chest at the sight.</p>
<p>Priscilla looks up with a wicked grin. “Good morning, Jaskier! I was just showing Geralt photographic evidence of that time you dyed your hair blonde.”</p>
<p>“Priscilla!” Jaskier darts across the kitchen and tries to snatch the phone from her hands, but she dodges. “It wasn’t my fault! Valdo convinced me. He said I was too generic-looking as a brunette.”</p>
<p>“Oh, because this is better.” Priscilla holds up the phone so Jaskier can see the image of himself with perfectly coiffed, shoulder-length golden hair. “And the hair may have been Valdo’s fault, but that terrible goatee was all you.”</p>
<p>“Listen, you—” Jaskier makes another grab at the phone, yelping as Geralt catches him around the waist and pulls Jaskier into his lap.</p>
<p>“Wasn’t that bad,” Geralt says, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s shoulder.</p>
<p>Jaskier and Priscilla both turn to stare at Geralt. “Oh, you dear, sweet man,” Jaskier says. “You’re lying.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” Geralt’s lips twitch. “Maybe. Like you better like this, though.”</p>
<p>Jaskier ruffles his own hair in agreement. “I’m perfectly content as a generic brunette.”</p>
<p>Geralt squeezes him. “Nothing generic about you.”</p>
<p>Priscilla mimes vomiting into her coffee.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>That night, Jaskier has the night off from the E-Z-Go. He and Geralt go out to dinner and walk around a bit afterwards, enjoying the cool spring evening, before stopping by Jaskier’s favorite bakery to get hot chocolate and croissants. Jaskier laughs as Geralt struggles to eat his croissant with his inhumanly sharp teeth, sending flakes of pastry everywhere. Geralt flicks whipped cream at him in retaliation.</p>
<p>“Eskel would like this place,” Geralt says when Jaskier is done squawking in indignation. “He’s always had a sweet tooth.”</p>
<p>“Eskel?” Jaskier asks.</p>
<p>“My brother.”</p>
<p>“Is he…” There are too many people in the bakery for Jaskier to say ‘witcher’ out loud, so he just gestures at Geralt.</p>
<p>Geralt nods. “He’s the only other one from my cohort left. Then there’s Lambert, who’s a few years younger than us, and Vesemir, who was our teacher. Plus Coën, Eskel’s partner, and Aiden… Well, no one knows what the fuck Aiden and Lambert are doing, least of all Aiden and Lambert.”</p>
<p>Jaskier feels a warm glow in his chest that Geralt trusts him with this information. “Are they all like you?”</p>
<p>“What’s like me?”</p>
<p>“Big, broody, and devastatingly handsome?”</p>
<p>Geralt snorts. “You would like them. Well, maybe not Lambert, because he’s a prick.”</p>
<p>“Oh, isn’t that the uncle who taught Ciri to swear? Actually, I would like to meet him, because he has a way with words. Think he could teach me a few things, actually.”</p>
<p>“Hm, I take that back. You and Lambert would get along well.”</p>
<p>“I get along with most people.”</p>
<p>“I can tell.” Geralt’s eyes soften.</p>
<p>“I always wanted siblings,” Jaskier says. “I was always so jealous of my friends with big families. But it was just me and my parents.”</p>
<p>Geralt doesn’t say anything, but he looks at Jaskier inquisitively.</p>
<p>“My parents live in Lettenhove, not that far from here,” Jaskier tells him. “Dad’s a music teacher, Mom’s a lawyer.”</p>
<p>“So that’s where you get it from.”</p>
<p>“The music? Oh yeah, that’s all Dad. Mom can’t carry a tune to save her—”</p>
<p>“I meant the argumentativeness.”</p>
<p>“Oh, bite me.”</p>
<p>From Geralt’s wolfish grin, he’s thinking about doing just that.</p>
<p>Jaskier swats at him. “Yes, for your information, I am much more my mother’s son than my father’s, except for the music. Dad’s the most mild-mannered person you’ll ever meet. Don’t know how he puts up with us.”</p>
<p>“You’re close.” It’s a statement, not a question.</p>
<p>Jaskier feels the smile die on his face. “Yes.”</p>
<p>“But?”</p>
<p>Jaskier sighs. Sometimes, he wishes Geralt weren’t so observant. “They’re great. They’ve always been great. From the first time I picked up a guitar, they’ve been supportive. They skimped and saved to send me to Oxenfurt, and then I dropped out my sophomore year when Valdo promised to make me a star. They fucking hated Valdo and knew it was all going to blow up in my face, but they’ve never once said, ‘I told you so’ afterwards. Sometimes, I wish they would, because then maybe I’d feel better about being such a disappointment.”</p>
<p>Geralt frowns. “You’re not a disappointment.”</p>
<p>“Geralt.” Sweet, darling Geralt. “I’m a twenty-eight year old college dropout who works two minimum wage jobs that barely pay the bills. All of my parents’ friends have kids who have decent jobs, or families, or at least a <em>hope</em> of having either of those things. I have the E-Z-Go.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” Geralt frowns.</p>
<p>“Anyway, I don’t see them as much as I used to.” Jaskier looks away from him. “I know they expected more from me, and I hate that I’ve let them down.”</p>
<p>Geralt reaches out to cover Jaskier’s hand in his. “You haven’t let anyone down.”</p>
<p>Jaskier feels his mood lighten a bit, because even though he knows Geralt is just trying to make him feel better, it’s nice to hear. “This is far too heavy a topic for a first real date. Want another croissant?”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Later that night, when Geralt goes to drop Jaskier off at his apartment before setting out to patrol for the katakan, Jaskier turns to him with a frown. It doesn’t sit right with him to go home to his warm, safe apartment while Geralt’s out risking his life.</p>
<p>“I should come with you,” he says.</p>
<p>Geralt’s brow furrows. “That’s not a good idea.”</p>
<p>“What if I promise to stay out of your way? Be silent as a mouse so that you wouldn’t even know I was here?”</p>
<p>“I would know you were lying,” Geralt says. “We might run into the katakan. I don’t want to do anything to draw its attention to you. Its victims have all been young and pretty. I’m surprised it hasn’t targeted you yet.”</p>
<p>“You think I’m pretty?” Jaskier bats his eyelashes.</p>
<p>“Is that really what you got out of that?” Geralt asks dryly.</p>
<p>“What was I supposed to get out of that?”</p>
<p>The witcher shakes his head. “I’ll be less distracted if I know you’re somewhere safe. The last thing I want to be on a katakan hunt is distracted.”</p>
<p>“I suppose you make good points,” Jaskier says. “You have the spare key I gave you?”</p>
<p>Geralt nods, patting his pocket.</p>
<p>“Then I’ll wait up for you.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s eyes soften. “You shouldn’t. I might be out late.”</p>
<p>“I’ll wait up for you,” Jaskier says again, pressing a kiss against Geralt’s lips. “And I’ll most likely be naked.”</p>
<p>“Told you I didn’t want to be distracted on the katakan hunt.”</p>
<p>Jaskier laughs, delighted, and kisses him again. “See you soon.”</p>
<p>He does try to wait up for Geralt, but he ends up dozing, sprawled over his bedspread. When he hears his bedroom door close, he immediately sits up and finds Geralt standing in the doorway, watching him with an unabashedly fond expression.</p>
<p>“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Geralt says.</p>
<p>“Good thing I was wide awake and waiting for you, just like I promised.” Jaskier surreptitiously wipes the drool off his chin.</p>
<p>“Hm.” Geralt’s eyes roam over him appreciatively.</p>
<p>“Find anything?” Jaskier asks.</p>
<p>“No.” Geralt shucks off his jacket. “Katakan is still keeping its head down.”</p>
<p>“Oh well.” Jaskier tries to arrange himself into a seductive pose. “I suppose I need to make sure this night isn’t a total loss.”</p>
<p>“Sure you don’t want to go back to sleep?”</p>
<p>“Don’t talk nonsense. I’m wide awake.”  And as Geralt crawls into bed next to him, Jaskier rolls over to show him just <em>how</em> awake.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“I’ve been thinking,” Jaskier says the next night, as he watches Geralt get ready to patrol for the katakan again. In a few hours, Jaskier will need to get ready for work.</p>
<p>“Hm?” Geralt looks up with an inquisitive lift of his eyebrow.</p>
<p>“I’ve been struggling to make music after what happened with Valdo. All the things I used to write songs about seem so trite now, you know? Love, sex, heartbreak. Everyone writes songs about that stuff. What I need is inspiration.”</p>
<p>“Jaskier,” Geralt says gently. “No.”</p>
<p>Jaskier laughs. “You don’t even know what I’m trying to ask.”</p>
<p>“I do, and the answer is no.” Geralt shakes his head. “I’ve told you, the reason witchers are safe is because no one knows we still exist. They think we’re legends of old. If that changes, it won’t just be me in danger. My brothers, Ciri, Triss, and Yennefer would all be put at risk.”</p>
<p>“But what if I didn’t sing about witchers? I’m thinking maybe some kind of musical drama about a man who hunts monsters? An entirely fictional man, of course, and entirely fictional monsters. I could give him black hair and call him, I don’t know, Heralt—”</p>
<p>Geralt crosses the room to put his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders. “I don’t need songs written about me. And you should find inspiration that doesn’t put you in harm’s way.”</p>
<p>Jaskier’s shoulders slump. Geralt is making good points, but he can’t help but feel the sting of rejection. “It doesn’t seem fair that you’ve been keeping the Continent safe for eight hundred years, and no one ever wrote a song about you.”</p>
<p>Geralt presses his lips to Jaskier’s forehead. “I’m sure there were songs written about me, but they were probably about how I was a bloodthirsty beast.”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t make me feel better.”</p>
<p>“I don’t do this for the accolades, Jaskier. If I did, I would have given it up my first year on the Path.”</p>
<p>“Was that ever an option for you?’</p>
<p>“No,” Geralt says. “Witchers keep going until we get too slow and something takes us down. Surprised it hasn’t happened yet, to be honest. I never expected to make it past one hundred, never mind eight hundred. None of us know what our natural lifespan even is.”</p>
<p>It all sounds painfully lonely to Jaskier. He reaches out a hand to cup Geralt’s cheek. “Just be careful tonight, okay?”</p>
<p>“Didn’t make it this far by not being careful.”</p>
<p>“Please.”</p>
<p>Geralt closes his eyes and leans into Jaskier’s palm. “I promise. See you later tonight.”</p>
<p>“I’ll hold you to that,” Jaskier murmurs and kisses him.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Later that night, when Geralt walks into the E-Z-Go, Jaskier knows that something is wrong as soon as he gets a glimpse at the witcher’s grim expression.</p>
<p>He’s never been very good at protecting his heart. Too many times, he’s walked into a relationship knowing that it was going to end badly and that it was going to hurt, but not caring. And he knows that’s exactly what he’s been doing for the past few days. He knows that there won’t be many more nights of falling asleep in Geralt’s arms and waking up to find those beautiful yellow eyes watching him. He knows that Geralt is going to have to leave eventually and that it’s going to break his heart when he does.</p>
<p>But it’s so easy to get used to this. It’s been a long time since Jaskier woke up in the same person’s arms more than once. After only a few days, he’s already learning the sounds Geralt makes in his sleep. He’s getting used to the way Geralt likes to tuck his face against the side of Jaskier’s neck and the way Jaskier sometimes wakes up to find one of Geralt’s legs slipped between his.</p>
<p>So no amount of being braced for the end can prepare him for when, “Three people have been killed in Flotsam. Looks like the katakan has moved on. I need to leave tonight.”</p>
<p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Geralt follows the katakan to Flotsam and Jaskier finds himself in trouble.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier has never particularly had anything against Flotsam. He’s been there twice in his life, once for a concert and once for a battle of the bands in high school. It’s a pretty typical city, as far as cities go. </p>
<p>Right now, he hates everything about Flotsam and all the people who live there.</p>
<p>“I guess you can’t leave in the morning?” Jaskier’s voice comes out full of horrible false cheer. He hates the sound of it.</p>
<p>Geralt shakes his head. “Three people are already dead and more will follow. Its kills are getting sloppier, more vicious. I need to stop anyone else from getting hurt.”</p>
<p>Jaskier’s bed will still smell like Geralt when he gets home to it, Jaskier thinks absently. He knew that Geralt would leave, but he naively thought they would have a last night together, a chance to say goodbye. He wants to close the space between himself and Geralt, but his feet are rooted to the spot behind the counter.</p>
<p>“Well do you at least want some coffee for the road?” he hears himself ask, as if from far away. “You’re in luck, I just put on another pot. I’ll just—”</p>
<p>“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice is heavy with weariness.</p>
<p>Jaskier looks up into those golden eyes. “It’s okay, Geralt. You have a job to do, a katakan to kill. We knew this was coming.”</p>
<p>Geralt nods slowly. “I would stay if I could.”</p>
<p>“I know.” Jaskier smiles, knowing it probably looks as false as his voice sounds. “And it’s not like you won’t come back to visit, right? I’m sure your travels will bring you this way once in a while?”</p>
<p>Geralt hesitates and Jaskier feels a sour feeling build in his gut. Because it was one thing when their burgeoning relationship was being cut short due to circumstance. But if Geralt just flat out doesn’t want him, well, there’s a punch to the gut.</p>
<p>“I’ve looked this way for eight hundred years,” Geralt says. “And I’ll keep looking this way until the day I run out of luck on a hunt.”</p>
<p>Jaskier flinches at the thought of Geralt “running out of luck.”</p>
<p>Geralt must notice, because his expression goes grimmer. “Your friends will notice eventually that I’m not aging. You won’t be able to introduce me to your parents. I don’t have a birth certificate or a social security number, so I won’t get hired for any legitimate job.”</p>
<p>“What does any of that have to do with anything?”</p>
<p>“You’re twenty-eight. You have your whole life ahead of you. You deserve to be with someone who can say the same. All I have to offer you is the back of a van and a lot of late nights worrying that I won’t survive to make it home to you.”</p>
<p>“Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice cracks. “We could figure something out—”</p>
<p>“I don’t belong in your life. And you don’t belong in mine.”</p>
<p>Jaskier feels that like a shard of ice to his heart. “If this is about earlier, you have to know that I would never write a song about you if you didn’t tell me I could. I would never do anything to put you or your family in danger.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s expression softens. “I know. This has nothing to do with that. I just know how this is going to end, Jaskier. And I think it’s best if that happens now, instead of after you’ve gotten attached.”</p>
<p>“Attached,” Jaskier echoes flatly.</p>
<p>There seems to be nothing else to say, so they just stare at each other for a moment.</p>
<p>“I’ll let you know when the katakan is dead,” Geralt says after an uncomfortable silence.</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Jaskier’s lips twist into a wry smile. “You know where to find me.”</p>
<p>Geralt nods and turns towards the door. “Goodbye, Jaskier.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t even take a cup of coffee to go.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Jaskier has a tendency to be a bit dramatic about breakups. With Valdo and the Countess, he let himself mope around for weeks in a state of dissolute drunkenness, listening to sad love songs and going days without brushing his hair or shaving. The way he sees it, if he’s going to get his heart broken, he may as well get to use it as an excuse to self-indulgently eat too much ice cream and get Priscilla to watch all the tearjerker movies she normally turns her nose up at.</p>
<p>But with Geralt, he feels strangely numb. There’s no weeping into his ice cream. There’s no dramatically draping himself across the couch and declaring that he’ll never find love again. He gets home from his shift at the E-Z-Go and doesn’t get a wink of sleep before needing to get up to go work at the coffee shop, where he moves through his shift on autopilot. The look on Geralt’s face when he told him that they don’t belong together keeps replaying in Jaskier’s mind in a mocking loop.</p>
<p>He and Geralt were never truly together, he keeps telling himself. He always knew this was coming.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse.</p>
<p>“No Geralt?” Priscilla asks him the night after Geralt leaves for Flotsam when she finds Jaskier sitting at the kitchen table by himself, eating leftovers from the takeout the three of them got the night before.</p>
<p>Jaskier shakes his head, avoiding her eyes.</p>
<p>She sighs. “Oh, Jask, I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Jaskier says, that terrible false cheer back in his voice. “He had to go to Flotsam for work.”</p>
<p>“And will he be back?”</p>
<p>“Probably not.”</p>
<p>She sighs. “I know you liked him.”</p>
<p>“I barely knew him, Pris.” Jaskier waves a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. I got a few great nights out of him.”</p>
<p>When he looks up, he finds Priscilla staring at him.</p>
<p>“What?” he demands.</p>
<p>“Fuck, you <em>really</em> liked him, didn’t you? Normally, at this point, you’d be wallowing on the couch in sweatpants, on your fourth pint of ice cream.”</p>
<p>“Excuse you, I have never worn sweatpants in my life.”</p>
<p>Priscilla gives him a sad look. “Jask.”</p>
<p>Jaskier forces a brave smile. “It’s fine, Pris. I knew he was going to move on eventually because of his job. The only surprising thing is that he stuck around as long as he did.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>It’s pouring buckets when Jaskier arrives at the E-Z-Go later that night, the kind of heavy rain that makes it impossible to see more than a couple of feet ahead. By the time he makes it from his car to the shop, Jaskier is already soaked to the skin and shivering. Due to the rain, it’s a quiet night, with only a handful of customers in the first hour of his shift and not a single one after that.</p>
<p>Jaskier stocks shelves and sings along to the tune he can feel formulating in his head, the first song he’s written in ages. The lyrics are only half-formed; he’ll have to actually sit down and write them out tomorrow. It’s a song about the special kind of heartbreak of walking into a relationship knowing that it’s going to end, but still putting your all into it. How typical, that his first time writing a song in half a decade would be because a man he only spent a few nights with left town. Jaskier shakes his head at his own melancholy, but doesn’t stop singing the song to himself. He can already tell it will be a good one when he finishes.</p>
<p>“Pretty song.”</p>
<p>Jaskier yelps and drops the can of baked beans he’s holding. Heart hammering, he whirls around to find Alan standing there.</p>
<p>“Alan!” Jaskier lets out a relieved laugh, pressing a hand over his heart. “I didn’t hear you come in.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Alan says. There’s something different about him tonight, Jaskier thinks. Maybe he got a haircut? “Don’t think I’ve heard you sing before.”</p>
<p>“Just something I dabble in occasionally.” Jaskier glances over at the coffee pot and sees it’s empty. “Oh, look at that. Give me two minutes and I’ll have a fresh pot brewed.”</p>
<p>“Take your time.”</p>
<p>Jaskier goes to put on another pot of coffee, heart still beating a bit too fast. “Miserable night out there, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“I’ve seen worse.” Alan comes to stand next to Jaskier, just a bit too close. The hairs on the back of Jaskier’s neck prickle and he shifts away.</p>
<p>“I suppose it is April in Redania,” Jaskier says cheerfully. “There’s always a lot of rain.”</p>
<p>He looks up at Alan and frowns. He’s really never been sure how old the other man is, though he’s always assumed between sixty and seventy given that he fought in the last Nilfgaardian War. Alan’s white hair, scruffy beard, and hunched posture have always given him the air of someone who’s lived a long time. But looking at him now, Jaskier notices that the other man is standing up straight. His beard is shaved. His pale eyes are clear as they study Jaskier’s face. He looks younger than Jaskier has ever noticed, with the well-preserved look of someone who could be anywhere between forty and sixty.</p>
<p>“You shaved!” Jaskier smiles, trying to hide his sudden uneasiness. “It looks good.”</p>
<p>Alan smiles wryly. “Trying to make some changes. Eating better too.”</p>
<p>The coffee finishes brewing and Jaskier heads towards the cash register so he can ring Alan up. But instead of pouring himself a cup of coffee, Alan follows Jaskier.</p>
<p>“Haven’t seen that white-haired boy in a while,” Alan says. “The one with the creepy eyes.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Geralt? His job takes him all over the place. I think he must have moved on.”</p>
<p>“For the best. Never liked how much he hung around here.”</p>
<p>Jaskier feels a prickle of protectiveness. “He liked the coffee.”</p>
<p>Alan chuckles, but the sound has no humor in it. “Don’t think that was all he liked. I could smell him on you, you know, last time I was in here. You reeked of filthy mutant.”</p>
<p>Jaskier stops in his tracks and slowly turns to face the other man. “What did you just say?”</p>
<p>“Witcher blood smells like death.” Alan seems taller. How the fuck has he grown taller? “Even without that potion they take to turn their blood poison.”</p>
<p>Oh, fuck. Jaskier forces his face to remain perfectly neutral. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Alan. You just want the coffee?”</p>
<p>“You know, I never wanted to do this, Jaskier. Because I like you. And not just because you make damn good coffee. You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re a young man who’s going places. Or, you were.”</p>
<p>In the split second it takes Jaskier to blink, Alan has closed the space between them, crowding Jaskier back against the counter. Jaskier’s heart leaps into his throat. “Alan, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but—”</p>
<p>“Don’t play stupid. I can hear your heartbeat.” There’s a growl in Alan’s voice.</p>
<p>“Okay.” Jaskier holds up his hands as if to ward Alan off, even though he knows it’s useless. “Look, Geralt’s gone. He went to Flotsam.”</p>
<p>“He did.” Alan smiles slowly, showing far too many teeth. “I made sure of it.”</p>
<p>Jaskier can’t look away from those teeth. He still doesn’t understand how this is happening, how grumpy Alan who always wanted to complain about Nilfgaardian plots and the government’s inadequate road maintenance, could turn out to be a vampiric serial killer. “What do you want?”</p>
<p>He knows the answer, even before Alan's gaze drops to his throat. Jaskier presses himself as far back against the counter as he can, wondering if he’ll be able to reach the Countess before the katakan attacks, or if it will even matter if he does.</p>
<p>But instead of tearing his throat out, Alan says, “Insurance. I think that mutant of yours will be more careful with his silver sword with you in the line of fire.”</p>
<p>Of course he wants to use Jaskier against Geralt. Jaskier can’t let that happen. “It was just sex, Alan. We’re not… Geralt went to Flotsam. He won’t come back for me. Please, just leave.”</p>
<p>“You’re wrong, Jaskier.” Alan leans forward. “He knows what I am, and it’s only a matter of time before he comes racing back here to make sure you’re alright.”</p>
<p>Jaskier opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by the squeal of tires. They both turn to look out the window as Roach comes flying into the parking lot.</p>
<p>“He made good time,” Alan says conversationally.</p>
<p>“No.” Jaskier’s voice cracks with desperation. “Alan, please don’t hurt him. Please—”</p>
<p>Alan’s hand lashes out, seizing Jaskier by the throat. Jaskier cries out as he’s dragged forward. For a horrible instant, he thinks the katakan is going to drain him dry right there. Instead, Alan holds Jaskier between himself and the window, one hand wrapped around Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier can see their reflections in the window as Geralt jumps out of his van, grabs his swords, and starts across the parking lot. When he sees Jaskier and Alan, he goes still. Horror flashes across his features, before smoothing into a perfectly blank expression.</p>
<p>“Come in, witcher.” Alan’s voice is low and gravelly in Jaskier’s ear. In the reflection of the window, Jaskier watches as Alan’s outline shifts and distorts, growing taller and wider. The fingers wrapped around Jaskier’s throat lengthen and sharpen into claws. He can’t clearly see what it is standing behind him, but he knows it’s not even remotely human. And Jaskier is completely at his mercy.</p>
<p>Geralt keeps his hands visible at his sides as he crosses the rest of the distance to the E-Z-Go. As soon as he steps inside, Alan says, “Weapons on the ground.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s gaze flickers between Jaskier and Alan. “I’m here. I’ll cooperate. You can let him go.”</p>
<p>“I said, weapons on the ground, witcher.”</p>
<p>Geralt unsheathes both swords from his back and yanks a knife out of his belt, sliding all three blades across the ground towards Alan. His eyes never leave Jaskier’s. His face is still perfectly expressionless, but Jaskier can see the turmoil in his eyes.</p>
<p>“One wrong move and he dies,” Alan says.</p>
<p>Geralt’s expression doesn’t change. “You don’t want to do that.”</p>
<p>“What makes you say that?”</p>
<p>“Because he’s your ideal victim. And yet, you’ve been in here multiple nights a week for months, probably years, and you’ve never touched a hair on his head. You like him. You don’t want to hurt him.”</p>
<p>“I’ll do what I need to do to survive. Whatever it takes.”</p>
<p>“Then let him go. Because I promise you, if he’s harmed, you won’t walk out of here alive.”</p>
<p>“And if I spare him? Then you let me live?” Alan chuckles, low and dark. The sound makes Jaskier shudder. “We both know witchers don’t show mercy to monsters.”</p>
<p>“So then what?” Jaskier asks, surprised by how steady his voice comes out, even as his heart pounds with terror. “What do you want, Alan?”</p>
<p>“What does everyone want? To live.” One long, clawed finger strokes up the line of Jaskier’s throat. “But you’re not going to let that happen, are you, witcher?”</p>
<p>“Let him go, and we can talk,” Geralt says.</p>
<p>“Talk.” Alan scoffs. “Since when do witchers talk?”</p>
<p>“If you didn’t want to draw a witcher’s attention, you shouldn’t have killed nearly two dozen people.”</p>
<p>“I thought witchers were long extinct by now. It was an unpleasant surprise the first time I saw you here. Should have killed you right then.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s jaw clenches. “You’ll find that witchers are harder to kill than stranded motorists.”</p>
<p>“And what about him?” Alan’s grip on Jaskier tightens. “How hard do you think he’ll be to kill?”</p>
<p>There’s a long, ugly silence. Jaskier can hardly breathe, and not just because of the hand wrapped around his throat.</p>
<p>“Jaskier,” Alan says. “There’s a freezer in the back, isn’t there?”</p>
<p>Jaskier’s eyes meet Geralt’s. When the witcher nods, he whispers, “Yes.”</p>
<p>“Good,” Alan says. “Take a walk with us, witcher.”</p>
<p>Jaskier tries to dig his heels in as Alan starts to drag him towards the back of the store. “Alan, don’t.”</p>
<p>“Don’t give me a reason to hurt you, Jaskier. Your witcher is cooperating so nicely. Don’t let it be in vain.”</p>
<p>“Do what he says, Jask.” Geralt follows them, hands outstretched to show his lack of weapons. His fingers twitch when they pass his swords, but he doesn’t bend to pick them up. He doesn’t look away from Jaskier until they reach the stockroom and stop in front of the door of the freezers.</p>
<p>Alan yanks the lanyard hanging around Jaskier’s neck over his head and tosses them to Geralt. The keys clatter as they fall to the ground.</p>
<p>“Unlock the door,” Alan tells Geralt.</p>
<p>Geralt doesn’t bend to retrieve the keys.</p>
<p>The grasp on Jaskier’s neck tightens and Alan lifts him into the air. Jaskier gasps for breath, hands scrambling at Alan’s arm while his feet kick helplessly, searching for purchase. He thinks his heart may actually burst out of his chest from fear.</p>
<p>“I don’t like repeating myself,” Alan growls.</p>
<p>Geralt complies and Alan lowers Jaskier back to his feet. Jaskier sags back against the katakan, still breathing too fast. He shivers when Geralt opens the freezer door and a blast of cold air hits them.</p>
<p>“Get inside, witcher,” Alan says.</p>
<p>“Geralt—” Jaskier starts, but Alan slaps a hand over his mouth.</p>
<p>“You do what I say, and I won’t hurt Jaskier,” the katakan says. “I’ll let him live.”</p>
<p>Jaskier cries out against Alan’s hand, helpless and furious and terrified, as Geralt steps inside the freezer.</p>
<p>Geralt’s eyes are terribly sad as he looks at Jaskier. “It will be okay, Jaskier. I’ll get you—”</p>
<p>Alan slams the door in his face.</p>
<p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Geralt and Jaskier confront the katakan.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With a shaking hand, Jaskier flips the “Closed” sign on the front door of the E-Z-Go. Inside, the store is dark and quiet, with all the lights turned off. He’s never seen the E-Z-Go closed before; it’s normally open 24/7, 365 days a year, no matter what kind of blizzard or hurricane has hit them. He doubts his coworkers that will arrive to relieve him in three hours will have any idea what’s going on, or what to do with the mysterious man who they find locked in the freezer.</p>
<p>That’s the only thing that’s keeping him from falling apart— a few hours locked in a freezer most likely won’t kill a witcher, or even have any kind of negative health ramifications for him. Geralt will be fine.</p>
<p>Jaskier just doesn’t know if he can say the same about himself.</p>
<p>“What are you going to do with me?” Jaskier manages to ask. He doesn’t want to know the answer to the question, though he’s fairly certain he already knows it. He remembers the shrine to the diner waitress who was killed in the parking lot and Priscilla’s pale face as she lay in her hospital bed.</p>
<p>“I haven’t decided yet.” Alan is back in his nondescript human guise, looking every bit the friendly, slightly dotty tow truck driver that Jaskier has known for years now. Somehow, that’s more terrifying than his monstrous true form. “Think I’m going to keep you with me for now. Make sure your witcher doesn’t follow us.”</p>
<p>Jaskier tries for a smile. “I’m guessing that begging for my life won’t help?”</p>
<p>Alan tilts his head to the side, watching Jaskier like he’s an amusing puppy. “You can always try. Come with me.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t bother with threats; there’s no need.</p>
<p>Jaskier thinks about running as they cross the parking lot to Alan’s truck. His car is only a few steps away; maybe he could make it. Better yet, maybe he could make it back into the store and get Geralt.</p>
<p>As if he can read Jaskier’s thoughts, Alan reaches out and grabs Jaskier’s arms in a vice-like grip. “If you even think about causing problems, I will drain you dry and then go back inside and snap your witcher’s neck. Understood?”</p>
<p>Jaskier nods mutely.</p>
<p>“Good.” Alan pushes him towards the truck. “Get in.”</p>
<p>Jaskier complies, clambering into the passenger seat. He buckles his seatbelt out of habit, then lets out a humorless laugh. What does it matter if they crash and he smashes through the windshield? It would be a kinder fate than the one he’ll most likely suffer at Alan’s hands. The cold terror he’s been forcing himself to think through begins to rise again, drowning out the rational part of his brain telling him to focus and stay calm. If he loses himself to panic, he knows he’s fucked.</p>
<p>Alan turns on the radio as they pull out of the parking lot. It’s an oldies station from Tretogor; it’s staticky and occasionally interrupted by the local Top 40 station. Jaskier sits very still with his gaze focused straight ahead, hands fisted in his lap and body rigid.</p>
<p>“You’re awfully quiet,” Alan says mildly after they’ve been driving for about a half an hour.</p>
<p>Jaskier swallows back the knot of dread in his throat. “Not feeling very chatty right now.”</p>
<p>“I left your witcher alive. What more do you want from me?”</p>
<p>“Not to be kidnapped,” Jaskier says. “And you didn’t leave Geralt alive out of the goodness of your heart. You left him alive because you knew you couldn’t fight him unless he was weakened.”</p>
<p>“Would you prefer I go back and finish the job? He may be a witcher, but he’s unarmed.”</p>
<p>Jaskier looks away.</p>
<p>Alan chuckles. “That’s what I thought.”</p>
<p>“You’re not going to let me live, are you?” Jaskier asks, voice strangely flat and wildly at odds with the abject terror he can feel turning his insides to ice.</p>
<p>The katakan is quiet for a moment, considering. “No,” he says after a moment, sounding almost embarrassed. “Probably not.”</p>
<p>Jaskier closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Can I ask why?”</p>
<p>“Because I haven’t eaten in days and now that you’re not surrounded by the stench of mutant, you smell delicious.”</p>
<p>“Pretty sure that’s just my aftershave. If you want the brand, I’d be happy to—”</p>
<p>“I was so careful for so long,” Alan says. “Only taking a sip here and there from most of the people I fed from, only killing those who no one would notice was gone. It was no way to live, hiding in the shadows like that. Do you know how old I am, boy?”</p>
<p>“My mother taught me to never answer questions like that.” Gods, his parents. He hasn’t called them in weeks.</p>
<p>“I was alive before the Conjunction. I remember the days when people like me could feed freely without having to fear the wrath of witchers. I remember when the first witchers started hunting us down.”</p>
<p>“And that’s why you started killing people? You thought witchers were extinct?”</p>
<p>“After millennia of hiding, I was done. There aren’t many of my kind left. Most of the vampires left alive are the lesser species, like bruxae and fleder. But there are over a billion humans on this Continent. Over a billion ridiculous, spoiled, disgusting humans. You never change, you know. I’ve been alive long enough to see that first hand. The only thing most of you are good for is your blood.”</p>
<p>Jaskier thinks of funny, sweet, fiercely loyal Priscilla and all the people who love her— her parents, her sisters, her bandmates, Shani, Jaskier. The fact that Alan could look at someone like her, someone so full of love and life, and think that she was only good for her blood enrages him. “One of the people you attacked, the woman Geralt saved from you, is named Priscilla. She’s my roommate and my best friend.”</p>
<p>“I knew she was connected to you somehow. I could smell you on her.”</p>
<p>“And you still attacked her?”</p>
<p>“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about draining you dry, Jaskier? One time, I was about to do it, but then someone walked into the E-Z-Go. Good timing for you, terrible timing for me. The girl smelling like you was why I attacked her.”</p>
<p>“She didn’t deserve that,” Jaskier says hoarsely. “She’s a good person.”</p>
<p>“Someone like me can’t waste time worrying about things like that.”</p>
<p>Jaskier reaches out and puts his hand on the door handle. They’re going about seventy miles an hour, too fast for him to safely jump. Maybe if he landed in the grass, he might survive? But he would almost certainly be grievously injured, easy pickings if the katakan decided to come back and finish him off.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t,” Alan says, not sounding overly concerned. “You’d break every bone in your body. It would be a messy death. I’ll kill you painlessly, Jaskier.”</p>
<p>Jaskier shudders, less than reassured. “So what are you going to do after you kill me? You won’t be able to stay around here, you know. Geralt will hunt you down.”</p>
<p>“Getting a little tired of this area anyway.” Alan shrugs.  “Might be nice to go down south for a while. Haven’t been down that way in a long time.”</p>
<p>They’re slowing down. Jaskier wonders if Alan is looking for a place to pull over. A place to drain him dry. The queasy terror is growing stronger; he’s only going to be able to keep his composure for so long. He doesn’t want to die crying and pleading for his life. He doesn’t want to die at all. He wants to go visit his parents and hang out with Priscilla and Shani and sing again and see Geralt…</p>
<p>“Here we go.” Alan pulls onto the shoulder and parks. “This is as good a place as any to stop.”</p>
<p>Jaskier can’t breathe. He can’t look at Alan. He can’t think. He reaches for the door handle again, but an enormous clawed hand covers his.</p>
<p>“Let’s not waste our time.” Alan’s voice is a low growl. “Look at me, Jaskier.”</p>
<p>Jaskier shakes his head. It may be cowardice, but he can’t bring himself to look into that monstrous face, at all the teeth that are about to rip into him.</p>
<p>“Look at me!” Alan roars and Jaskier flinches.</p>
<p>Alan seizes Jaskier’s jaw and he squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for pain, just as something slams into the side of the truck with a crunch of metal. The truck lurches forward, slamming into a tree. All the air is forced from Jaskier’s lungs as his body jerks against the seatbelt. Alan curses colorfully, a saxophone wails over the radio, and Jaskier’s heartbeat thunders in his ears.</p>
<p>Then the passenger side door is ripped open. Instinctively, Jaskier flinches, but it’s Geralt’s familiar hands that reach in to pull him out.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” Geralt’s voice sounds very far away. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I saw he was about to bite you, and all I could think to do was cast Aard. Are you okay?”</p>
<p>“Geralt,” is all Jaskier can say, because it’s all he can think. Geralt is here, Geralt is alive, Geralt came for him. “How?”</p>
<p>“There’s a ghost in your freezer. She let me out. Need to go back and help her pass on later.”</p>
<p>Jaskier lets out a hysterical little laugh. “Remind me to tell Ciri I told you so.”</p>
<p>But Geralt isn’t listening anymore. He’s staring past Jaskier, expression hard. “Can you run?”</p>
<p>Slowly, Jaskier turns. It’s the first time he’s looked at Alan’s katakan form head-on and it’s just as twisted and nightmarish as he knew it would be, somewhere between a bat and a wolf. It moves towards them, its movements a horrible mixture of animal and human. Pain forgotten in the face of pure terror, Jaskier takes a step backwards, running into Geralt’s broad chest.</p>
<p>Gently, Geralt pushes Jaskier behind him and shoves something into his hand. “Run.”</p>
<p>Dumbly, Jaskier looks down at the thing in his hand. It’s the Countess.</p>
<p>When he looks up at Geralt, the witcher’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Just in case he gets past me. Now run.”</p>
<p>Gods, Jaskier wants to kiss him, but now is decidedly not the time. “I don’t want to leave you again. I already did that once today.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s expression softens. “Jaskier, I don’t want you anywhere near here. Get to Roach. Keys are in the ignition. Just—”</p>
<p>Alan takes advantage of Geralt’s distraction and lunges. Geralt manages to pivot out of the way, arm thrown out to block Jaskier from the katakan’s assault. The katakan lunges again, this time slamming into Geralt and driving him back through the trees.</p>
<p>Jaskier knows he should get the fuck out of here, but he can’t leave Geralt. He runs after them, in time to see Alan slam Geralt against a tree with enough force that Geralt’s sword falls out of his hand. Alan roars in Geralt’s face, his clawed hands pinning the witcher’s arms to his sides and his teeth dangerously close to Geralt’s throat.</p>
<p>Every fiber of Jaskier’s being is screaming at him to run, but all he can see are those teeth and the pale skin of Geralt’s neck. He remembers Priscilla in her hospital bed. That isn’t going to happen again, not to Geralt.</p>
<p>He doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already closed the distance between them, slamming the Countess into the back of Alan’s head. The katakan snarls, but doesn’t release his hold on Geralt, so Jaskier hits him again, then again. It’s like hitting a brick wall. After three hits, Alan must tire of it, because he throws Geralt aside and whirls around to pluck the baseball bat out of Jaskier’s hands. With one sharp movement, he snaps the Countess in half and drops the fragments to the ground.</p>
<p>Weaponless, Jaskier finds himself staring into Alan’s blazing red eyes.</p>
<p>Fuck.</p>
<p>He starts to retreat, but there’s a hand around his throat before he can take a step.</p>
<p>“Remember when I said I was going to make it painless?” Alan snarls. “I lied.”</p>
<p>Jaskier doesn’t even have time to cry out for Geralt before teeth bury into his neck.</p>
<p>For an instant, Jaskier’s whole world is pain. He claws desperately at Alan, his legs thrashing. He can’t think around the terror and the sound of his heart thundering in his ears. He can hear the wet noises of Alan swallowing down his blood and he wonders how long it will be until he mercifully passes out. He squeezes his eyes shut, screwing up his face against the pain.</p>
<p>And then Alan’s body jerks. Jaskier’s eyes snap open to see Geralt standing behind Alan. There’s blood on his face and a snarl twisting his lips. His sword is buried into Alan’s back. The katakan whirls on him, Jaskier still dangling from his hands like a doll. Jaskier can feel the hot blood running down his neck.</p>
<p>“Don’t come any closer, witcher,” Alan growls. “Or—”</p>
<p>Geralt makes a sign in the air and both Alan and Jaskier are thrown backwards. Jaskier lands on the ground hard, knocking the wind out of him. A heavy body lands on top of him and he lets out a startled cry before he looks up into Geralt’s golden eyes.</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Geralt murmurs, his body pressing Jaskier down into the ground, covering him. “You’re okay.”</p>
<p>The katakan roars, starting towards them, and Geralt raises a hand, making another sign. Flames shoot through the air, hitting Alan. The katakan keeps coming towards them, so Geralt throws more flames at him. Alan is engulfed in flames, monstrous face twisted in fury and agony, but he just keeps coming.</p>
<p>Jaskier knows he should be terrified, but it’s hard to be afraid when Geralt is here, one of his hands pressed against the wound on Jaskier’s neck and his body warm, solid, and safe against Jaskier’s.</p>
<p>Or maybe that’s just the blood loss talking.</p>
<p>Alan staggers forward, reaching for them, and Geralt leaps to his feet. With one powerful stroke, he swings his sword, striking the katakan’s head from his body. Alan falls to the ground, his head rolling away.</p>
<p>“Jaskier.” Geralt drops to his knees next to Jaskier.</p>
<p>“Am I going to die?” Jaskier can feel the blood seeping through his fingers.</p>
<p>“No,” Geralt says. “He didn’t hit your carotid artery.”</p>
<p>“Is that true, or are you just telling me that to make me feel better?” Jaskier’s lips twist into what he hopes is a brave smile. “Don’t spare my feelings, Geralt.”</p>
<p>“If you were dying, I would tell you. Let me see.” Gently, Geralt pries Jaskier’s fingers away from his neck and inspects the wound. “That was both brave and stupid.”</p>
<p>“That’s me.”</p>
<p>“Don’t do it again.”</p>
<p>“He was going to bite you!”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been bitten by a vampire. Probably won’t be the last either.” Geralt’s expression softens. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>“You don’t need to thank me. You’re the one who came heroically riding to my rescue.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” Geralt withdraws his hand from Jaskier’s neck and Jaskier sees that his fingers are glistening with Jaskier’s blood.</p>
<p>Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, suddenly feeling woozy. “Geralt?”</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>“I think I’m going to pass out.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Geralt says gently. “I’m here.”</p>
<p>The last thing Jaskier is aware of before unconsciousness claims him is being lifted into Geralt’s arms.</p>
<p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The end</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Jaskier wakes up, he’s in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. Not exactly an unusual occurrence for him, though this one is a little more tastefully decorated than the strange bedrooms he normally finds himself in. He’s very comfortable and very warm and would dearly like to fall back asleep if not for the throbbing ache in his neck and the creeping certainty that there’s something he should be remembering.</p>
<p>“Oh, good, you’re awake.”</p>
<p>Jaskier yelps.</p>
<p>“Please.” Yennefer appears in his line of sight, eyebrow raised. “For someone who tackled a katakan earlier tonight, you’re far too skittish.”</p>
<p>The memories from earlier rush back. “Fuck.”</p>
<p>She nods in agreement. “How do you feel?”</p>
<p>“Like a vampire tried to suck my blood.”</p>
<p>“A vampire did suck your blood. Here.” She hands him a cup of what turns out to be apple juice. He drinks it all down gratefully.</p>
<p>“Geralt?” he asks when he’s done.</p>
<p>“In the other room with Triss and Ciri. He’s okay, just a few bumps and bruises.”</p>
<p>Jaskier releases a shaky breath, the full force of how badly things could have gone starting to hit him. If Geralt hadn’t gotten out of the freezer in time, if Alan had killed Jaskier at the E-Z-Go instead of taking him captive, if Alan’s teeth had hit an artery…</p>
<p>“You survived an encounter with a katakan, which is more than some witchers can say.” Yennefer pats him on the arm in a manner that Jaskier thinks is supposed to be comforting. “I’ll go get Geralt.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Jaskier says. “For everything. Maybe next time we meet, I won’t be unconscious.”</p>
<p>Her lips quirk. “I think Ciri will make sure of it. She’s been bugging Geralt to have you over for dinner for weeks.”</p>
<p>A warm little glow fills Jaskier’s chest at this.</p>
<p>Yennefer leaves the room and a moment later, the door bangs open. But it’s not Geralt that comes running in, but Ciri.</p>
<p>“There is a ghost in the freezer!” she tells Jaskier, eyes wide.</p>
<p>“So I’ve heard,” he says. “You owe me twenty crowns.”</p>
<p>She crosses her arms over her chest and gives him an unimpressed look. “We never made a bet.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t we? Well, that’s a shame. Want to give me twenty crowns out of the goodness of your heart anyway?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Damn,  no sympathy for the man who nearly bled to death here.”</p>
<p>“You came nowhere close to bleeding to death.” Geralt steps into the room. Jaskier’s heart turns over in his chest at the sight of his witcher safe, unharmed, and <em>alive.</em></p>
<p>“You’re okay,” Jaskier says hoarsely.</p>
<p>Geralt nods, gaze fixed on Jaskier. “Ciri, it’s time for you to go to bed.”</p>
<p>“But—”</p>
<p>“It’s 3 AM on a school night.”</p>
<p>“I’m not going to school tomorrow!”</p>
<p>“You have a history test, so yes you are.”</p>
<p>Ciri groans. “Nice seeing you, Jaskier.”</p>
<p>“Good luck on your test,” he tells her with a cheeky grin.</p>
<p>She groans again, with the drama only a teenager can muster, and stomps out of the room.</p>
<p>Geralt closes the door and turns to Jaskier. For a moment, they just stare at each other.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Geralt finally says.</p>
<p>Jaskier squirms, suddenly uncomfortable under the weight of the witcher’s gaze. “You don’t need to be sorry.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I do.” Geralt takes a step towards the bed. “Flotsam was a trap, which I would have realized sooner if I hadn’t been so fucking stuck in my own head. I went poking around and walked into a room rigged with enough explosives to take down a fiend. Almost didn’t make it out. My cell phone and my jacket both got destroyed.”</p>
<p>“And that’s when you realized Alan was involved?”</p>
<p>“Saw his truck peeling out of the parking lot right after the building exploded. I couldn’t call you, so I tried to beat him back to the E-Z-Go. Obviously, I didn’t make it in time.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, you did.” Jaskier smiles. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”</p>
<p>Geralt’s gaze flickers to the wound on Jaskier’s neck. “I’m sorry for what I said before I left.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay.” Jaskier hopes that Geralt doesn’t hear the waver in his voice. “If you don’t want to be with me—”</p>
<p>“I do.” Geralt comes to perch on the edge of the bed. “I want to be with you more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time and it terrifies me.”</p>
<p>“So you ran away?”</p>
<p>Geralt nods. “With my tail between my legs, according to Yennefer.”</p>
<p>“I like her.”</p>
<p>“Knew you would.” Geralt’s lips twitch. “I’m scared that I won’t make you happy, Jask. Scared that I won’t be able to give you what you need.”</p>
<p>“Geralt.” Jaskier leans forward to take Geralt’s hand. “We’ve only been sleeping together for a week. This is still the point in the relationship where we’re supposed to be worrying that we’re incompatible because I don’t like Nilfgaardian food.”</p>
<p>“You don’t?”</p>
<p>“Too many olives.” Jaskier shudders. “But my point is that we don’t need to be worrying about what’s going to happen in a year or five or ten right now. Let’s just enjoy getting to know each other when there’s not a vampire killing people.”</p>
<p>“Hm,” Geralt says, but his eyes are fond.</p>
<p>Jaskier squeezes his hand. “I know we haven’t known each other for long, Geralt, but I care about you and I love spending time with you. And I’m not going to ask you to give up on your life of witchering to settle down in middle of nowhere Redania. I know you have to travel the Continent, keeping us all safe. But maybe you could come back to visit me occasionally?”</p>
<p>“Or you could come with me.”</p>
<p>Jaskier stares at him. “What?”</p>
<p>Geralt ducks his head, looking embarrassed. “Sorry, we haven’t known each other long. I just thought— well, you’ve been fired from the E-Z-Go.”</p>
<p>“Ah,” Jaskier says. “Not entirely surprising, since I did walk out of my shift. And I can’t exactly tell them I was kidnapped by a katakan.”</p>
<p>Geralt nods. “Your boss kept calling you while Yennefer was trying to heal you. She lost her temper and answered.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I am glad I was unconscious for that conversation.” Jaskier laughs without humor. His gig at the coffee shop is nowhere close to being enough to pay the bills.</p>
<p>“It’s not a glamorous life on the road, but you don’t have to worry about rent and utilities,” Geralt says. “And you could see the Continent. Gather inspiration for your songs. And I could keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t attract any more monsters.”</p>
<p>“And as for us—”</p>
<p>Geralt moves closer to him, cupping Jaskier’s knee with his hand. “I don’t want to leave you behind. Maybe it’s selfish, but I like having you around. It feels… right, being with you. Haven’t felt as shitty as I did when I left for Flotsam in centuries.”</p>
<p>Jaskier doesn’t speak, his throat too full of too many emotions.</p>
<p>“But it’s okay.” Geralt starts to withdraw his hand. “You have a life here. You have your music. I won’t—”</p>
<p>“I want to come with you,” Jaskier says.</p>
<p>Geralt is quiet for a moment. “You’re sure?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Jaskier laughs. “I don’t remember the last time I was this sure about something.”</p>
<p>Geralt closes the distance between them and kisses Jaskier, hot and fast and fierce. Jaskier clings to him, burying his hands into Geralt’s hair and leaning back as Geralt covers his body with his…</p>
<p>“You fuck in my bed, witcher, I will set it on fire with both of you in it!” Yennefer calls from the other room.</p>
<p>Geralt and Jaskier abruptly pull apart. With one look at Geralt’s shame-faced expression, Jaskier bursts into laughter. Geralt’s lips twitch into a smile and he presses a chaste kiss against Jaskier’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“We’ve already surprised one near death experience tonight,” Jaskier says. “Probably shouldn’t risk another.”</p>
<p>“Hm, you’re right.” Geralt leans his forehead against Jaskier’s. “Anyway, we have time.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“You know, even for you, going to live in the back of a van with some guy you’ve only known for a few months is a lot.” Priscilla perches on the edge of Jaskier’s bed, watching him with a raised eyebrow.</p>
<p>Jaskier tosses a handful of socks into a box without stopping to make sure any of them match. There are bound to be at least a few pairs. “Geralt isn’t <em>some guy</em>, Pris.”</p>
<p>“Oh, gods, please don’t start again.” Priscilla covers her ears. “I cannot hear another word about his glorious ass or his beautiful eyes or his—”</p>
<p>Jaskier throws a pair of gym socks at her. They’re clean, which is more than she deserves. “Look, I’ve been wanting to travel for a while now. This is my chance. And the fact that I get to travel in the company of a gorgeous, kind, funny, sweet man who happens to be an unbelievably good lay is just icing on the cake.”</p>
<p>It’s been a month since the night that Alan attacked them and he agreed to travel with Geralt. While Jaskier immediately wanted to hit the road, the witcher insisted that he wait a month to make sure that traveling with him was really something that Jaskier wanted to do.</p>
<p>“You nearly died last night,” Geralt told him gravely. “I don’t want you to make any rash decisions that you’re going to regret.”</p>
<p>“Geralt.” Jaskier leaned forward to kiss him. “I’m an expert at rash decisions I’m going to regret, and I promise this isn’t one of them.”</p>
<p>But Geralt insisted and Jaskier has spent the last month getting his affairs in order— giving his notice at the coffee shop, letting Priscilla know that he’s moving out, playing gigs with Priscilla’s band. Geralt has been in the south on a contract, but they’ve been keeping in touch via text constantly. Jaskier has been buzzing with equal parts excitement and nervousness for the entirety of the month. Excitement because he gets to travel the Continent with Geralt and what more could he ask for? Nervousness because what if Geralt changes his mind? Or worse, what if they start traveling together and it’s a disaster?</p>
<p>Jaskier shakes away the thought. Geralt will be here tomorrow and then Jaskier will leave with him. He knows he’s not running away to a life of luxury. He knows he’s choosing a path with far too many monster guts and far too few showers. He knows it won’t always be easy and there will certainly be times where he wishes he had stayed in Redania. But he’s going to be with Geralt, and he has faith that that will be worth any hardships.</p>
<p>He goes to sit down next to Priscilla, slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Look, I know you’re used to worrying about me.”</p>
<p>She leans against him. “I have been doing it for a decade now.”</p>
<p>He nods. “You’ve been there for me through everything, Pris, and I love you. But you don’t need to worry about me anymore. I I’m going to be okay.”</p>
<p>“Jask—”</p>
<p>“I know that the only reason you haven’t moved in with Shani is because you didn’t want to leave me in the lurch,” Jaskier says. “Which I really appreciate, by the way. But it’s well past time that I get out of your hair.”</p>
<p>Priscilla sniffles a little. “Her apartment is way nicer than this shithole.”</p>
<p>“It really is. Honestly, I can’t believe you didn’t move out years ago. You must really love me.”</p>
<p>“You know I do.”</p>
<p>He hugs her, resting his chin on the top of her head. They sit like that for a long minute before Priscilla says, “Just be careful, okay? And call me to let me know where you are at least once a week. And come back to visit occasionally.”</p>
<p>“Any other demands? Would you like my firstborn as well?”</p>
<p>“If your firstborn is half as needy as you, I’ll pass.”</p>
<p>Jaskier chuckles and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll call so often, it will be like I never left.”</p>
<p>“Let’s not get carried away.”</p>
<p>Their front door opens and Shani calls, “It’s me! I got your mail.”</p>
<p>Priscilla and Jaskier pull apart, both wiping their eyes, and go to find Shani standing in the kitchen. Priscilla goes to greet her girlfriend while Jaskier searches through the pile of mail. A water bill, a piece of mail for the previous tenant, a couple of catalogs, and…</p>
<p>Jaskier stares down at the letter in his hand.</p>
<p>“Jaskier, what’s wrong?” Priscilla asks.</p>
<p>“It’s from Valdo.”</p>
<p>“Fuck, are you serious?” Shani demands. “What the hell could he have to say to you, after all this time?”</p>
<p>Jaskier has the urge to throw the letter down the garbage disposal, but he opens it, just in case it’s really a letter from Valdo’s next of kin telling him that Valdo died in a freak woodchipper accident.</p>
<p>“What does it say?” Priscilla comes to peer over Jaskier’s shoulder at the letter.</p>
<p>Jaskier has to read it twice. In true Valdo fashion, it’s long, rambling, and full of so much self-aggrandizing that it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s trying to say. “He’s apologizing for running off with all my money,” Jaskier says.</p>
<p>Priscilla snorts. “Well, that does you a lot of good.”</p>
<p>“He says he’s seen the error of his ways and feels terrible for all the hurt he’s caused.” Jaskier turns over the letter to read the back. “And he asks that I not sic my boyfriend on him again, because he’s scary.”</p>
<p>Shani and Priscilla exchange looks. “Are you sure Geralt’s not a hitman?” Shani asks.</p>
<p>“Positive,” Jaskier says.</p>
<p>“Who cares if he’s a hitman?” Priscilla reaches into the envelope to pull out a check. “I mean, if he is, I have a list of people—”</p>
<p>“Priscilla!” Shani looks appalled.</p>
<p>“What? If he took care of Valdo—”</p>
<p>“He didn’t <em>take care</em> of Valdo.” Jaskier snatches the check out of her hand and blinks down at it. It doesn’t cover everything Valdo took for him; it’s not quite half the money he lost. But it’s more money than he’s had in years, more than enough to keep him comfortable.</p>
<p>Shani peers down at the check and whistles. “Well, I guess you’re buying us dinner tonight, Jask.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Jaskier is waiting when Roach pulls up outside his apartment building the next morning, butterflies in his stomach. He loads his things into the back of the van and hops into the passenger seat.</p>
<p>“You still want to come?” Geralt looks a little surprised and Jaskier wonders if the witcher has spent the last month just as full of anxiety as him.</p>
<p>“Of course I want to come with you,” Jaskier says. “I packed all my things and quit my job. I wouldn’t have done that if I weren’t all in.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” Geralt glances into the backseat, though Jaskier doesn’t miss the pleased curl of his lips. “You really did pack all your things.”</p>
<p>“It’s all entirely necessary, I can assure you.”</p>
<p>“Going to need a bigger van.”</p>
<p>Jaskier makes a face at him. “So, how is Nilfgaard this time of year? I got a letter from Valdo.”</p>
<p>“I hope a check came with that letter.”</p>
<p>“It did. Also a plea not to let you come anywhere near him again.”</p>
<p>“Hopefully I won’t have to.”</p>
<p>Warmth fills Jaskier’s chest and he can’t help but lean over to kiss Geralt. His lips feel just as familiar as they did when they said goodbye a month ago.</p>
<p>“I have something else for you,” Geralt says when they pull apart.</p>
<p>“Oh, are you making the rounds of all my enemies to collect money from them? Because I have a list.”</p>
<p>“How many enemies do you have?”</p>
<p>“A handful,” Jaskier says innocently.</p>
<p>“Not sure if I should give this to you then.” Geralt reaches into the backseat and pulls out a baseball bat. “Since your last one got broken, I thought you might want a replacement.”</p>
<p>Jaskier weighs it in his hands, a sudden lump in his throat. “She’s beautiful.”</p>
<p>“It will have to do until I teach you to use a sword.”</p>
<p>“You’re going to teach me how to use a sword?”</p>
<p>“You’re traveling with a witcher. A baseball bat won’t do much good against most of the things I face.”</p>
<p>“Don’t listen to him, Countess.” Jaskier strokes the bat lovingly. “You’ll do just fine.”</p>
<p>“You’re naming it the Countess?”</p>
<p>“How many Roaches have you had?”</p>
<p>“Hm, good point.” Geralt looks at Jaskier, eyes soft. One of his hands settles on Jaskier’s knee. “Are you ready to go?”</p>
<p>“You have no idea how ready.” Jaskier covers Geralt’s hand with his and squeezes. “Where to first?”</p>
<p>***</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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